


Case C is the Most Troublesome

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Drugs, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:58:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On court, Akaashi Keiji had been able to assess every situation and make the correct call. In life, the habit’s hard to break, but he has varying results, especially when the situation is a road trip with Bokuto, taking him to tryouts for the Hiroshima Thunders. </p><p>Just the two of them, he could have coped with, but joined by Kuroo and Kenma, the trip takes a wildly different turn. </p><p>And as he watches Kenma from the rear view mirror, he’s unable to comprehend just why he’s tagged along. But then again, maybe Keiji’s not the only one with an ulterior motive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Case A - Assessment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ackermanx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackermanx/gifts).



> This is my hqhols story for ackermanx, who asked for a story featuring Bokuakaa and Kuroken. You were very kind and didn't give a specific prompt leaving it up to me, so I do hope this meets your expectations.
> 
> Have a wonderful Christmas.

It was a hot day in Tokyo, the sun beating down on the tarmac roads, giving off a heat haze that made everything in the distance shimmer.  Akaashi Keiji, with his holdall over his back, followed his boyfriend out of the apartment they shared and watched as Koutarou jiggled the car keys in his hand.

Keiji narrowed his eyes, assessing.

 **Potential outcomes of letting Bokuto drive when he’s a little over-excited:** (that was putting it mildly, Koutarou was at his most overhyped happy, slapping a grumpy-looking Kuroo on the back, throwing his bag into the back of the Prius and already demanding his play list for the trip).

 **Case A:** He drives through Tokyo with no problems.  
**Case B:** He drives through Tokyo in his usual manner, and nearly kills us with his exuberance because goddammit he needs open roads and not traffic jams.  
**Case C:** Someone else drives and he sulks.

 **Time elapsed:** zero point five seconds.

Keiji took the first stint.

Bokuto sulked.

And moaned.

“Why ain’t we through Tokyo yet?” he asked precisely eighteen minutes after they set off.

“Because there’s traffic.”

“You coulda got through that gap.”

“We need to stay in this lane.”

“We coulda got back in this lane after we’d got in front of this lorry.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Geh, driving in Japan is so boring,” he complained, drumming his fingers on the window.  “Why can’t it be like America? Always looks so cool there. The car chases, the hooting, the- ”

“Bo, shut up. Some of us are trying to sleep.” Kuroo slapped him round the head, yawned and then shifted back against his seat.

“It’s ten. Why you sleepin’?”

“’Cause I didn’t get back ‘til early this morning, and I couldn’t see the point of going to bed,” Kuroo drawled. “Some of us have a social life.”

He yawned again, not even bothering to cover his mouth with his hand, then closed his eyes.

“Where d’ya go?” Bokuto asked.

“Club.” Kuroo replied, not opening his eyes. “Really cool. You had to be invited, but Kai got me in. His brother’s the head barman. Great music and we got free drinks. Lot of action, too.”

“Why didn’t ya invite me?”

“’Cause you had to look the part,” Kuroo said bluntly. “Now shut up and let me sleep.”

“LOOK THE PART!” The roar should have caused Keiji to brake, except after five years, he was well used to Bokuto’s yells by now.

“Yeah, I mean, you’re a nice guy and all, but you ain’t exactly stylish,” Kuroo murmured. He stretched out more, adjusting his position until he was almost prone, but keeping his knees bent so he didn’t hit the fourth person in the car.

Checking the rear view mirror, Keiji studied Kozume Kenma. He was the only one of them not wearing shorts, preferring baggy khakis and an overlarge, sloppy hoodie. Engrossed in a game, his knees to his chest, he didn’t appear to be paying them any attention, but one earphone had fallen out, so Keiji guessed he must have heard some of the conversation.

He watched as Kenma’s eyes flicked from the screen and towards Kuroo. It was a small movement, barely perceptible, and then he continued with his game as if nothing had happened.

“I can do stylish!” Bokuto argued.

“In that shirt!”

“What’s wrong with this shirt?” Bokuto yelled as he pulled at the neck of his purple tee.

“It’s inside out for one thing,” Kuroo replied, laughing.

“Huh?” Bokuto frowned as he examined his clothes, then snorted. “Nah, it ain’t. This is one of those reversible shirts. You got no idea about clothes.”

“Your dancing’s shit,” Kuroo countered.

“Say that again.”

“Your dancing is shit,” Kuroo repeated. “The shittiest shit dancer, I ever did see. You’d be the one they reject from the boyband when they start making it big. You have such shitty rhythm when you were seventeen, they just called you the Queen, ‘cause you couldn’t even play the tambourine in time.”

“What?”Bokuto stared at Kuroo, then nudged Keiji. “What’s he going on about?”

“Search me,” Keiji replied. He slowed to a halt at the lights. Twenty-five minutes and he could feel a headache brewing.

“Why would I want a tambourine?”

“I have no idea,” he sighed.

“You’re a twat, Kuroo.”

“So because you don’t know something, and your boyfriend can’t answer either, I’m a twat.” Kuroo laughed to himself. “Makes a lot of sense, Owl-boy!”

“Why a tambourine, then?”

“I’m leaving you to work that out. Helps with the mystery of the trip, don’t ya think?”

“It’s a song.”

“Huh?”

Kenma raised his head from the game and stared into the mirror, catching Keiji’s eyes. “Dancing Queen. It’s an ABBA song. Our moms like it.”

For someone so silent, so lacking any real presence especially when the overpowering personalities of Bokuto and Kuroo were sparking off each other, Kenma’s muttered words effectively put an end to the conversation.

“Oh.”

“Gah, why d’ya have to ruin my fun?” Kuroo asked.

Kenma shrugged.  “Thought you wanted to sleep.”

“I do, but ...”

“Hey, I wanna know about the club!”

“Nah, I’m gonna sleep!”

“But was it good? And can we come along next time?”

“It was great, and no, you can’t,” Kuroo snapped. “Now let me sleep.”

“No, you bastard, talk!”

“Make me!”

“He wasn’t really at a club,” Kenma muttered, and slumped back into his seat. “Kai was moving apartments, and Kuro helped.”

“Go back to your game,” Kuroo said sourly.

“You’re being noisy and my earphones don’t work,” Kenma replied. “It’s hard to concentrate.”

Shifting his position, rolling one shoulder off the door, Kuroo leant into the back and pulled a bag. His bag. He opened it, scrabbled for something, then threw a pair of earphones at Kenma. “Have mine, Kitten,” he said.

If Kenma minded the nickname, he didn’t show it, accepting the earphones with a slight raise of his eyebrows, then plugging them into his console.

“Wake me up when we stop to eat, will ya?” Kuroo sprawled again, but even though Kenma put his legs down, he didn’t attempt to lie on top of him, instead preferring to let his feet hang onto the floor.

And Keiji wondered, not for the first time over the years, what was going on with the pair of them. And why Kenma was even there?

But then again, he wasn’t sure why he was here either. It would probably have been better to stay behind, let Bokuto and Kuroo do their celebratory road trip alone – because that had been the plan. 

 

(“Hey, hey!”

Keiji looked up from the text he was studying, to a very familiar pair of amber eyes and grey eyebrows peering around the door. And as he’d specifically requested that he be left alone because the essay was proving a bitch, Keiji glared at Bokuto.

“If this is another request for me to go to training this afternoon, my answer is the same,” he said and glowered. “I _have_ to get this finished. Find another Setter.”

Bokuto pulled his ‘hurt face’, his ‘why-are-you-always-so-hard-on-me-when-you-know-I-love-you’ expression, with a pouting bottom lip, and eyes that sagged downwards. The usual tricks when he wanted his own way, except this time there was something a little too exaggerated about the drooping mouth, and his eyes were brighter than usual.

Keiji put down his pen. He sighed.

“What gives?”

“Nawww, you don’t wanna know,” Bokuto said, flapping his hand. “I’ll leave ya to work.”

But he stayed where he was and grinned.

So it was either something even more inane than usual (in which case he’d have spilled by now) or ...

“You’ve been scouted.”  No question in Keiji’s voice, just certainty. “Who?”

“THUNDERRRRRRS!”  he roared, then tilting his face up to the ceiling he started to hoot. “I’m gonna be their AAAAAACE!”

“You are kidding?” But Keiji knew he wasn’t, and he got to his feet, kicking over the chair in his haste. Yes, he had an essay to finish, but some things were more important.  “JT Thunders?”

“I’M GONNA BE THE A-A-AAACE!”

“In Hiroshima? Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Bokuto’s head bobbed up and down, his eyes flashing as he poked out his tongue. “Well, it’s a trial, but ... uh ...” His mouth drooped again, and some of the light left his eyes. “I mean, obviously I ain’t ruled out Tokyo bein’ interested, but ...it’s the _Thunders_ , Keiji. Are you proud of me?”

“Am I?” He could feel himself blink with both surprise and absurdity at the question. “Of COURSE, you daft git. This is ... this is ... this is incredible, but ...” He left his desk, taking two quick strides to Bokuto and grasping him on the shoulders, pulling his face down so he could stare into his curious, innocent gold eyes. “You deserve this, Koutarou. You’re amazing and yeah, you’re gonna be their A-A-AACE!” he chanted.

“So ...” Bokuto’s hands slipped to Keiji’s waist and in one sudden movement, he lifted him in the air, beaming up at him. “We gotta celebrate, right?”

“Of course!”

“Now?”

Keiji winced. “I _have_ to get this project done,” he said apologetically. And he _was_ sorry, but he knew if they started celebrating now, he’d wake in the morning with a head full of hammers. “The weekend, yeah, I promise.”

Bokuto shrugged, his shoulders, the effect causing Akaashi to slip back to the floor. “Sure. Kuroo’s around. I’ll call him.”

“You do understand, don’t you? Only...”

“Your college work’s important, I ain’t an idiot, Keij,” he muttered, staring at the ground.

But as he turned away, Keiji grabbed his arm. “I know you’re not,” he said fiercely, and clasping Bokuto’s face in his hands, he pulled him down for a kiss. “You deserve this... Ace.”

Bokuto grinned at him. “Yeah, I do, don’t I?”

 

He didn’t see him for another twelve hours, Bokuto landing back at the apartment at three in the morning, drunk as a skunk and by trying to be quiet, far noisier than usual.  From their bed, Keiji heard him kick off his shoes (one landing on a shelf resulting in a curse and a clatter), then several bumps against the wall, and a crash as he stumbled into the bathroom.

“Good night?” he murmured, when Bokuto flopped on the bed.

“Sorry, did I wake ya?”

“I was awake,” he replied, not lying because since they’d started sharing a bed, Keiji had rapidly found it hard to sleep when Bokuto was out. 

In the starlit darkness, he could make out Bokuto’s figure as he stripped. He kicked out of his jeans, treading them into the carpet, then pulled off his socks with his toes.  He stretched to take off his t-shirt, exposing the strong- muscled back and arms to Keiji’s view.

“Here,” he murmured, throwing him the shirt he liked to sleep in.

“Ahh, you’re lovely, you know that?” He pulled on the shirt, fighting to get his head through a sleeve before snorting at his ineptitude and giving up. “Too hot, anyway,” he said, and crawled up the bed.

“Where did you go?” Keiji asked, staring across at Bokuto, who’d nestled his head into a pillow, preparing to sleep except his eyes were wide open.

“Lotsa bars and a noodle place.  Kuroo wanted to go to a karaoke bar, but I came home.”

“Fun, then?”

He nodded into his pillow, his grey spikes flopping forward over his face. “Mmmhmm, Kuroo had this great idea.”

Something dinged in Keiji’s mind. “Which was?” he asked suspiciously.

“Road trip to check out the Thunders. Catch a game or two, maybe. Show-” He broke off to yawn. “I’m keen.”

“When?”

“August,” he replied, snuffling. “Two weeks, a month, dunno yet. Kuroo’s working it out.”

“Bo... Koutarou, this is your final year,” Keiji said gently. “You need to spend August studying, not haring around -”

“Pfft!” the sound came out as more of a raspberry, but he wasn’t irritated, just giggling and pleased with himself. “I won’t need a degree when I’m the A-Ace!”

“Kouta -”

“And Kuroo’s got another year so ... he ain’t bothered by this year’s exams. Hey...” He peered across the dark and into Keiji’s eyes. “You can come, too, Keijiiiii.”

“Kou-”

“Split the driving three ways. It’ll be fun!”

He sounded decided, even in his drunken state, and although Keiji wanted to argue the point, persuade him against any sort of trip in this important final year, he knew if he persisted, Bokuto would become stubborn, digging his heels in and refusing to budge.

“I’d ruin it,” Keiji murmured at last. He stretched out his hand, touching his fingertips to Bokuto’s face. “I really am proud of you, you know?”

“You don’t ruin anything,” Bokuto snuffled, then edged closer. “C’n we snuggle?”

As ‘snuggle’ was sometimes Bokuto’s euphemism for sex, Keiji hesitated.

**Potential outcomes of ‘snuggling’ Bokuto when he’s had a few too many to drink:**

**Case A:** We have over-exuberant drunk sex, and wake up in each other’s arms.  
**Case B:** We start to have drunk sex, but it doesn’t work out and he frets that he’s not good enough, and I spend half the night reassuring him.  
**Case C:** I say ‘wait til morning’ and he sulks.

 **Time elapsed:** zero point five seconds.

“Come here,” Keiji murmured, and trailed his hands down Bokuto’s side, resting on his waist.  Then he chuckled.

 **Case D:** He falls asleep. Problem solved.)

 

 

He kept driving after lunch, even though they’d hit the expressways.  Bokuto had offered to drive, as had Kuroo, but Keiji demurred, saying he’d rather get a long stint out the way first. In reality, he wanted the excuse of driving to prevent him having to talk. He needed the relative calm (relative because Bokuto and Kuroo were arguing over music) so he could strategise.  

His eyes flicked to Kenma, ostensibly bent over his game, but there was something a little too slow about his finger movements, and the intense concentration, Keiji remembered from training camp appeared to have gone. But then, thought Keiji, if your job was now working with games, then maybe they lost their gloss as a means of killing time. Although that couldn’t be said for Bokuto, whose whole life was still so bound to volleyball and about to make it his career.

_Hiroshima. The Thunders. Amazing chance. He has to grab it, while he can. Just as -_

“Hey!”

“Hmm?” He shook his head, glancing to his side. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

“Your phone,” Bokuto replied, picking it up. “It’s ringing. Shall I answer?”

Recognising the ringtone, Keiji shook his head. “Just Mom,” he said neutrally. “I’ll ring her later.”

He’d wanted to be at their first hotel a little after five. Certainly, that had been the plan: a leisurely drive on open roads, then switching to the country paths to avoid the tolls. And he’d even factored in Bokuto’s haphazard map-reading skills by insisting that the car they’d hired had a sat-nav.  So really, everything should have been fine. Except the sat-nav short-circuited when Bokuto spilt soda on it, and Kuroo decided he could navigate and clambered into the front, displacing Bokuto, to help.

His sneaky route. His endless ‘short cuts’. His insistence that he knew what he was doing, had them drawing up to the small hotel they’d booked after eight-thirty, and to the news that their rooms had gone. 

It was functional, that was about the best spin Keiji could put on it. A budget hotel, clean but not welcoming, not that any of them minded that.

“You should have called to confirm!” snapped the frozen faced, corrugated iron curled receptionist.

“Have you got _anything_?” Keiji asked, dragging Kenma up to the desk with him because Kuroo looked fit to punch something and Bokuto, half- asleep and grumpy, looked scarier than usual.

“We can share,” Kenma muttered.

She eyed him with something approaching approval, no doubt preferring his clothes and quiet manner to the others – especially Bokuto, whose hair after a nap was sticking up all ways, rivalling Kuroo’s.

“There’s a family suite,” she conceded, and slammed one set of keys on the counter. “No visitors, no smoking and no food or drink in your room. The restaurant’s closed. Breakfast’s at seven.”

“Well, it’s no love hotel,” Kuroo muttered as they stalked the landing. “You two’ll have to push your beds together. Although she’s probably nailed ‘em to the floor. Why did we stop here again?”

“It was cheap,” Keiji explained, careful not to sound defensive because he knew Kuroo would mock. “I thought it better than the four of us sleeping in the car.”

“It’s ... uh ... cool ...” Bokuto said when he unlocked the door. “Hey, there’s a ... TV, anyway. And that ... um ... table’s sort of useful.”

It wasn’t ‘cool’ at all, Keiji thought mutinously.  Four bed rolls laid out on a matted carpet. Peeling white paint that looked grey, and a wispy old cobweb floating in the draught from a cracked window pane. It was like being in a training camp dorm, but with none of the expectation. Because despite the pictures on the walls (regulation chocolate box scenery of Mount Fuji and some calligraphy painted onto bamboo) it was cold and unwelcoming. The sort of place Keiji was pretty sure no self-respecting family would ever want to stay here unless they were the Adams Family.

“This is like something out of The Shining,” whispered Kuroo. “When’s Jonny gonna bash through the door with his baseball bat?”

“It’s only one night. We’re moving on tomorrow,” Keiji said, then chewed his lower lip, because there was no mistaking the grimness of the room. “Sorry, it didn’t look this bad on the website.”

“Hey!” Bokuto twisted around, reached across and tugged Keiji towards him. “It’s great. ROOOOAAADDDDD TRIIIP!”

“Looks like we’re staying,” Kuroo said, resigned. “Okay with you, Kenma?”

“S’fine,” Kenma muttered and dumped his bag on one of the beds. “I need to charge my phone.”

***

The bar was busy. Kuroo led the way, an immediate smile on his face as he pushed open the door and chicaned his way through the customers.

“Beers?” he called back to the others.

“YUP!” Bokuto agreed.

Akaashi nodded. “And the menus, please.”

Kenma shook his head. “Just water, thank you,” he murmured. “And some ice.”

“Sure,” Kuroo replied, wondering why he’d bothered to ask because it was always the same. He and Bo would lead from the front, Akaashi would join them, but only to a point and Kenma ... Kenma didn’t like the taste, he said, never had.

_Another thing we don’t have in common._

That’s how he’d spent the days and weeks leading up to the trip, counting the differences between them.

He doesn’t drink.  
He’s given up volleyball.  
Prefers gaming to books.  
Earns money rather than studying.  
Is quiet, so very quiet.

Sometimes Kuroo believed the only thing they had in common was their childhood. And he’d wonder if they’d met now, whether there’d be anything between them, anything at all. Maybe not even antipathy.

_Indifference? Would that be possible?_

 “Here’s your water, Kitten,” he murmured, placing the bottle and glass with ice on the table. “And a menu.” He shrugged. “They’ve got apple pie.”

There was a small smile on Kenma’s lips, and for an instant, Kuroo was transported back to one summer and a picnic where both their moms had packed them off with apple pies – the individual ones in foil cases. They’d had twelve between them, so obviously Kuroo had wanted a competition – see who could finish them first.

Kenma had lost. He lost most of their competitions, but never appeared to mind, accepting defeat with a shrug. And looking back, Kuroo knew it was because he didn’t care. The only competition Kenma was bothered about was locked inside his head, accessed by a small box.

But he’d lost the apple pie eating competition with far more purpose than normal. It wasn’t that he didn’t care but that he’d wanted to savour each pie. He’d licked his lips after the first bite, chasing crumbs before they fell from his mouth, with a cat like tongue, pink and rasping. 

He’d been fourteen, Kuroo fifteen, and he’d wondered then, wondered how that tongue would feel on his skin.

He’d not told him. Yeah, he’d confided that he thought maybe, possibly, perhaps, it was likely, that he was ... uh ... gay, but beyond an astonished blink and then a slight squeeze of his hand, Kenma hadn’t offered a similar revelation. He’d been there, silently supportive, not recoiling but not reciprocating.

“But no pie, until you’ve eaten _all_ your main course,” Kuroo chided.

Kenma rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

It was while eating their food that Kuroo signalled the waitress over to order more beers.

“Three more?” Kuroo asked.

“Uh,” Akaashi replied and gnawed at his upper lip. “Who’s driving tomorrow? Because whoever it is needs to take it easy tonight.”

“Me.” Bokuto sounded definite. “I gotta get up early for a jog anyway, so I don’t want a skinful.”

His eyes still on Akaashi, Kuroo thought he saw something flicker in his eyes, as if he were assessing the situation. But it was fleeting, a matter of half a second, and then he sat back in his chair. “One more for me, please, Kuroo-san, and then I might head back.”

It was kinda nice seeing Akaashi loosen up, smiling rather than deadpanning every time Bokuto told an appalling joke. At times like this, Kuroo could see exactly why his friend was so smitten. And he was happy for him because Bo deserved the world in all its shining victorious glory.

But it would only take a hint of neglect and such a world would tarnish.

He knew that more than anyone.

Kenma was fidgeting, his eyes flicking from his plate of food (half eaten) to his empty glass, then to the door. A small bead of sweat had formed on his forehead, a telltale sign, one Kuroo remembered from way back. The times when he felt closed in. It wasn’t something he’d seen much of the past few years, Kenma – though still quiet – had seemed to relax, grow more into himself, find friends, even, find ...

“You okay?” Kuroo murmured, when he was sure Bokuto wasn’t looking.

“Uh...” Kenma blinked up at him, not the slow assessing blink of his playing days, but the fast instinctive ‘fuck i’m terrified’ flickering.

“Do you wanna go?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine,” he said, but it was as if he were trying to convince himself of this.

“Is it the place?”

“Bit crowded, that’s all,” he panted. “But ... uh ... you know, I can deal with it. I work in an office with far more people.”

 _And you’re talking about it,_ Kuroo thought. He breathed in, and tried a smile.  

And to his relief, Kenma smiled back. “I really am okay,” he whispered, “but ... uh ... thank you, Kuro.”

“What for?”

“Checking.”

He shrugged. “It’s what I do, Kitten.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

 

In the end, it was Akaashi who made the first move. Ruffling Bokuto’s hair, and giving his leg a surreptitious squeeze, he got to his feet, claiming tiredness. And, yeah, Kuroo figured he probably was tired, having driven the whole day, but he was also watchful, juggling his phone in his pocket.

“Want me to come with ya?” Bokuto asked.

 “Kenma and I could stay here, give you two a bit of privacy,” Kuroo murmured, although looking at Kenma, who’d gone very still, kinda frozen in his chair, he could have kicked himself for making the offer.

Akaashi eyed them all. “Up to you,” he said in his level way. “I have to call Mom, and I’ll probably read for a bit, so ...”

“I’ll stay,” Bokuto replied, and grinned across at Kuroo. “Reckon they have Karaoke?”

 “Why don’t you go?” Kuroo muttered, nudging Kenma. “Bo and I can settle up. Maybe have one for the road.”

“Not if you’re driving,” Akaashi warned.

“Coffee. Decaf if you’d prefer, senpai,” Kuroo mocked, but his heart wasn’t really in it.

“Yeah, I need some air,” Kenma agreed. Picking up his jacket, he pushed his phone in his back pocket and followed Akaashi to the door, not looking back.

And Bokuto was staring at all of them, trying to work out what was going on, or maybe what wasn’t being said.

 

“So, you and Kenma, huh?”

“What about it?”

“Is he ... uh ... are you ... uh?”

Kuroo shrugged. “’Uh’ is about right,” he drawled, then turning sideways, he gave his most louche grin. The ‘I’m cool about this so don’t bug me’ smile and hoped Bo would understand.

Which he may or may not have done, but being Bo it didn’t stop him _saying_ what was on his mind.

“What’s going on with the pair of ya?”

“In what way?”

“Why’s he here?”

Kuroo picked up his beer bottle. There were only dregs left, but he made a show of sipping it, replacing it slowly back on the coaster. “I didn’t want to play gooseberry.”

“Wouldn’t have been like that.”

“C’mon, Bo, you guys are together. It’s kinda hard being on the outside of that. Besides-”  He swigged at his bottle, this time not disguising the fact it was empty and waved across to the waitress. “Kenma wanted to come along. It’s not like I forced his hand.”

“He wanted to, huh?” Bokuto furrowed his brow, but it wasn’t out of confusion, his eyes were gleaming, focused as if he’d just seen an opening past a three man block.

“It isn’t like that,” Kuroo snapped, cutting him off with flick of his fingers onto Bokuto’s forehead.

“But you want it to be, right?”

Did he? Sure, at sixteen, he’d have jumped at the chance. And at seventeen, even eighteen he was still hopeful, but now, age twenty-one, Kuroo had no idea.  All he did know was that losing Kenma’s friendship would be cataclysmic, the slow drip from the past two years had ached, a complete break would hurt beyond any measure.

It hadn’t been him leaving for university that had started the breach. Nope, the rift had begun the year before, then compounded when Kuroo wanted more – much more – and Kenma ...

“Nah.” He flapped his hand. “Ancient history. We’re cool the way we are. What are you drinking?”

“Uh...” Bokuto picked up the menu, finally settling on some kind of smoothie.

“And a beer for me, please,” Kuroo said.

If he’d hoped Bokuto’s interrogation was over, he was sadly mistaken. Once the waitress had moved on, Bokuto returned to the fray.

“There is history, though, so ... uh ... what happened?  I mean you guys were so close at school, and it was kinda like me and Keij, except you two have known each other for years and years and –”

“Years, yeah, I get it!” He rolled back his shoulders, feeling the crick as the muscles tried to loosen, and then he faced his friend. “Maybe we were too close, knew each other too well. I dunno. But if you don’t have that chemistry, then all the closeness in the world isn’t going to get you together.”

“But something happened, right? You ain’t exactly been bosom buddies these past few years.”

“We’ve been busy,” protested Kuroo. “Kenma works. He’s making money. I’m studying. We have different circles now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that! But ... something did happen, didn’t it?” Bokuto persisted.

He wasn’t going to let up. There was no shrinking away from the subject, no other means of distraction. Kuroo waited for the waitress to return, thanked her, then took a long, slow, sip from his bottle.

“Yeah, something happened,” he muttered.

“Which was?”

“Shouyou fucking Hinata happened.”

***

  
The night was balmy, so Keiji wasn’t really sure why Kenma felt the need to wear a jacket on the short walk back to the hotel. They didn’t talk, much. Kenma, he remembered, had never liked interacting unless he had to, or it was on court, and Keiji didn’t have Bokuto’s disinclination to keep quiet.  But halfway up the path to the hotel, Kenma stopped walking, taking a breath as he stared into the night.

“Do we have a balcony?” he asked. “I can’t remember.”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Keiji replied, and blinked. “Why?”

“I might sit out for a while. You can call your mother in private.”

“Yeah, it’s not that important. I can text her,” Keiji replied neutrally.

But it was clearly not neutral enough, because Kenma stared at him, unblinking.

“I don’t want to call her,” Keiji conceded. “Not yet.”

“Ah.”  He said nothing more, but tilted his face up to the sky, closing his eyes rather like a sunbather on the beach, except Kenma was basking in starlight.

His hair was longer, Keiji mused, studying him. The bad dye job from yesteryear had been touched up, neatened a little, and it was more by design than accident that he swept it off his face and over his ears. He was taller, too, with broader shoulders. A grown up rather than the boy from Training Camp. Not that Keiji was surprised, they’d all changed. But Kenma, the only one of them truly living an adult life, still wore a guard around his body, giving onlookers an occasional glimpse of his mind, but nothing more.

“So you don’t have to sit on the balcony,” Keiji continued. “I might read, but feel free to watch TV, or play a game. It won’t disturb me.”

“Really?”

Keiji grinned at him. “I live with the loudest person in Tokyo. I’ve learned how to tune out.”

“Ah,” he said again. And then he stared right at Keiji, his large amber eyes intent, before blinking slowly. “We can’t smoke in the room, can we?”

Oh!

“Uh, no, we can’t.”

“And I didn’t want to in the bar, or out here, it’s too ... uh ... public,” Kenma muttered. “And Kuro. He -”

“Won’t approve?” asked Keiji. “I know he’s a med student, but the amount of alcohol he ships down, he can hardly object to a few cigarettes-”

Kenma blinked again and huddled deeper into his jacket. He was silent, watchful, and then with an almost inaudible sigh, he pulled a slim packet  out of his pocket.

“It’s not that kind of cigarette,” he murmured.

“Oh... right.”

And Keiji wasn’t sure why he wasn’t surprised. True he didn’t know Kenma that well, hadn’t seen him for over a year and often still associated him with the fifteen year old he’d met during their first camp, but Keiji knew better than anyone not to judge on appearances.

“You’re not shocked.”

“Not particularly,” Keiji replied, still staring at the spliff. “Is this normal for you?”

“It... uh ...  takes the edge off,” Kenma said. “Helps me.”

“Then feel free. And –” Keiji paused, wondering how to phrase it, because the temptation to forget was overwhelming, “if you want company...”

Looking back at the stars, Kenma took a long lingering lungful of air, exhaling slowly before settling his gaze on Keiji again. There was a small smile on his lips, the kind of smile Keiji remembered when Kenma was happy, when Nekoma had won, or Kuroo had praised him. Small, intimate, barely there.

“Yes, I’d like that,” he said.

 

The balcony was small, barely able to fit two chairs, despite it being designated fit for a ‘family suite’, but it had the advantage of facing out the back of the hotel, away from the road, and whatever prying eyes might be on them.

Kenma’s joint wasn’t fat; he’d rolled it, so it seemed to Keiji, to closely resemble a normal cigarette, not overlarge, not too thin – careful and precise, the way he’d played. Something else Keiji should not have been surprised at.

He took a toke, shallow at first because it had been a while, let it hover at the back of his throat before inhaling, then exhaled slowly. A warmth spread through him, lazy dreams floating in his head. Beside him, knees pulled up to his chest, Kenma’s eyes were closed, his face again turned up to the sky, his mouth a little open as a plume of smoke drifted from his lips.

“Kuro would kill me,” he warned Keiji. “Would Bokuto-san be angry with you?”

“He doesn’t get angry, but he wouldn’t understand,” Keiji replied. “Our secret, okay?”

“Added to the list,” Kenma muttered. “What they don’t know-”

“Won’t hurt them,” Keiji agreed. He reached across, accepting the joint, and pressed it to his lips. “So why are we doing this if we know it’ll piss them off?”

“Rebellion?” Kenma shrugged. “Not sure I know.”

“But if this helps you, then won’t Kuroo understand?”

“Yeah, he’d understand, and then ...” Kenma stopped his words. He shifted a little in his seat, but it wasn’t the fidgeting of earlier. “He’d pity me. It’s ... uh ... not what I want.”

The question he’d wanted to ask since that morning, or longer really. The question he’d asked Bokuto ever since he’d found out Kenma was making the trip, too, hung on his lips. He took a drag, wondering at his own reticence because surely it was only natural to want to know.

“Why are you here?”

Keiji choked. “That was going to be my question to you.”

“I asked first,” Kenma said softly. “I didn’t think a road trip with Bokuto-san and Kuroo would be your thing.”

“It’s ... not,” Keiji answered. “But ... well ... someone has to keep an eye on him.”

“And you think Kuro won’t,” Kenma stated, no judgement in his voice, but there was a spark in his eye.

“They egg each other on. And this is Bokuto’s big chance.”

“Mmm, Kuro knows that,” Kenma replied. He settled on the chair, lolling his head backwards. “He wouldn’t do anything to fuck this up.”

“Not intentionally.”

“No.” The word was definite. “Not at all.” And then he cast another glance Keiji’s way. “But you know that already, don’t you?”

Swallowing, Keiji tried to turn away, to think of something else, a question or conversation to distract Kenma from his train of thought, but really there was only one thing to say ...

“So why are _you_ here, Kenma-kun?”  he asked, his tone deliberately light, but adding slowly, “Just what gives between you and Kuroo-san?”

“Nothing gives,” Kenma murmured. He uncurled his legs, placing them flat on the floor before getting to his feet. “I think I’ll turn in. Play on my game for a while. Feel free to finish that.”

He was gone, carefully closing the balcony door behind him. Keiji stared at the joint, took one more puff, then carefully extinguished it.

“We’re both lying,” he muttered to the empty air, “but at least I admit it to myself.”

<<Not yet>> he typed into his phone. <<Give me two more days.>>

And then he hit send.

***

“Hinata?” Bokuto laughed. “What’s he ever done to you, apart from spiking past ya?”

“Showed up. Appeared on the scene. Got Kenma –”

“Huh? You mean they-”

“Enthusiastic about volleyball,” Kuroo finished. He flapped his hand. “As for the rest, I don’t know. But ... something changed in him and it weren’t anything to do with me.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Possibly.”  He considered his beer, the bottle half empty, or half full depending on how pissed he wanted to get. “Yeah, okay, I am. Or was. Not now.”

 

(Graduation and the sky was cold this year. Blossom stunted after the cold sharp spring air nipped at the buds. Kuroo wasn’t sure he cared. Sure, the school photographs wouldn’t look as good, and Kai’s girlfriend was wailing because she wanted petals in her hair, but for him there was a rightness in the bleak day. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to graduate. He’d finished with Nekoma and had no hankering to stay on. College awaited with its wide horizon, a sun salutation of life just for him.

But there were some things he could never get back, some things he’d run out of time to do, and one thing in particular he thought he’d left far too late.

Except maybe, it was the right time. Maybe he needed the impetus of a new beginning to grab his chance while there still was time, whatever the sand in the hourglass was saying.

He sought him out. Not that Kenma was hard to find, sitting on steps near the gym playing with his phone while he waited. And it struck Kuroo then how often Kenma was waiting – not just for him – but for life to happen _to_ him, not around him.

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” he said. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Hope you’re not saying goodbye, too.”

“Huh?” Kenma peeled his eyes away from the screen.

“You are going to play next year, aren’t you?”

“Uh... volleyball?”

“Duh, yeah, what d’you think I meant?”

Kenma shrugged. “I’m staying. I told you that.”

“Did ya?” He sat on the steps, stretching out until his knees unbent and he was practically prone. “I don’t remember.”

“Kuro, we want revenge.”

“Reven- oh ... Karasuno.”

“They’re coming for Golden Week,” he replied and held up the phone. “Shouyou’s just told me.”

“Cool.” Kuroo muttered. But he didn’t feel ‘cool’. There was something rising in his gut, a churning, but not excitement, more dread and bitterness.

“It’s gonna be fun,” Kenma announced.

And then he smiled. Not the usual half smile, the one he flashed at Kuroo when he was feeling happy. Not the pained smile he used for Yamamoto’s jokes, or the fake smile he reserved for his mom when she asked if he was ‘happy’. No this was wide and bright and like the sun.

“I’m looking forward to next year. Amazing, huh? I thought I’d feel ... done.”

“Good for you, Kitten,” Kuroo murmured, and levering himself up, he ruffled Kenma’s hair.  His fingers tugged a little. Kenma’s hair, much finer than Kuroo’s, still had a tendency to knot when he’d had a restless night. _If_ he had a restless night. “You’re okay, aren’t you?”

“Me... uh ... yeah. I’m fine.”  And then he put down his phone, and rested his head on Kuroo’s shoulder. “You’re not going that far away. I’ll still see you, won’t I?”

His throat dried, a lump forming, preventing all words, all sounds except a vague sob that stuck somewhere between Kuroo’s teeth and his tongue. “You can visit me anytime, you know that, don’t you? First weekend if you want. Campus’ll be buzzing.”

But there was a shudder, a mutter of ‘people’ and Kuroo stopped trying to persuade. Kenma needed time, he needed space for his thoughts, or else he’d plug himself into a game and only emerge when the danger had passed.

“Coffee?” Kuroo suggested. “I’ll even treat you to apple pie.”

“Just us?”

“Yeah, just us.”)

 

“But he did visit,” Bokuto said. “I remember, ‘cause we organised a three-on-three. Keij was there, too.” He smiled a little goofily. “Good weekend.”

“Yup, he did. And yup, we played and I think Kenma enjoyed it, but –

 

(“Fuck this, I’ve _missed_ you!”

“Yeah, it’s been odd at school,” Kenma muttered, disentangling himself from Kuroo’s embrace. “I thought club would be quieter without you shouting at Yamamoto, but –” He rolled his eyes. “Nope, if anything it’s louder.”

“Team are good, yeah?  You said the first years were promising.”

“Mmm, one’s real short. Lev can’t concentrate for giggling and keeps patting his head.”  He smiled up at Kuroo, a little shyly, then something else flitted in his mind and his eyes lit up. “Aiki-kun watched us at Nationals. He even said he wanted to be Nekoma’s Small Giant, but ... uh ... he can’t jump. His receives are okay, and he can serve, but he’s no Shouyou.”

“Well, who is?” Kuroo replied lightly. “Except Shorty.”)

 

“He spent most of the time either gaming or when I got him away from that, he’d talk about volleyball.”

“Not surprising? I mean volleyball is kinda your connection.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t our volleyball.  It was his and ...” He spat out the word, “Hinata’s. What we had was gone.”

“Huh? How come?”

Kuroo took some more beer. Letting it trickle down his throat as he considered. Some analogies were clichés but they were clichés because they were right.

“What stops us seeing the stars during the day, Bokuto-chan?” he asked in a voice soft yet heavy with implication.

“Uh... it’s daytime.”

“Yeah, and the sun’s up. No other celestial body gets a look in.”

“So you gave up?  Didn’t even try?”

“I’d been trying for three years,” Kuroo said. “And sometimes you have to realise that not everything’s there for the taking.”  He yawned, stretching his arms over his head, and then gave Bokuto a devilish grin. “It’s not like I’ve had no fun, is it?”

“But you liked him. You really liked him! I remember from school, he was ... he was who you wanted to be with.”

Kuroo smacked his lips together. “Kenma liked Hinata. He was happy. It was like all the clouds in his mind had miraculously cleared, ‘cause Shorty had scorched through them. And I don’t know what went on between them, but for the first time, Kenma didn’t need me.”

“And that fucking killed me.”


	2. Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Bokuto and Kuroo are singing is 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' by Nirvana. It's kinda them, don't you think?

_“Hello, hello, hello,”_ sang Bokuto _._

 _“How low?”_ crooned Kuroo.

 _“Hello, hello, hello, how low?”_  
Hello, hello, hello, how low?   
Hello, hello, hello!” they screeched together

 _“With the lights off,”_ Kuroo howled _. “It’s less DANGEROUS!”_

_“Here we are now!  
Entertain US!”_

“How long will they keep this up, do you think?” Keiji asked, nudging Kenma with his toe.

“No idea. Want some headphones?”

Keiji shook his head. “I’m thinking.”

“What about?”

 “How to stop them,” Keiji said, and smirked. “It’s a thing I do - working out all possible outcomes.”

“Ah.” Kenma didn’t look away, so taking heart Keiji shuffled closer.

“Possible outcomes of me telling them to shut up,” he began.

“Go on.”

“Case A: They shut up.”

_“I feel stupid and contagious.”_

“Case B: They carry on, and get much louder.”

_“Here we are now, entertain us.”_

“Case C: They both shut up, but something worse happens.” He paused for approximately half a second. “I’m struggling to think what could be worse, though. SHUT UP!”

“You don’t like our singing?” Kuroo said, hand on his chest. “I’m hurt, Akaashi-kun.”

“I don’t like the same song played five times in a row.”

“But it’s a classic, Keij!”

“Yeah, and I’ve got a classic headache,” he moaned, “So ... please?”

He could see Bokuto’s grin in the mirror, the way he eyed Kuroo, both of them with one accord.

_“Hello, hello, hello, how low?  
Hello, hello, hello, how low?”_

Ah, well, at least it wasn’t Case C.

Although as his head really was pounding from lack of sleep, the weed from last night and a really _horrible_ breakfast, which he’d barely touched, he’d been left him lethargic and muddle-headed, there wasn’t anything worse Bokuto and Kuroo could do to him.

Except...  Keiji clutched the seat, Bokuto, still grinning, started to pull away from the car behind them, his foot on the accelerator.

_“WITH THE LIGHTS OFF, IT’S LESS DANGEROUS!”_

“No, come on,” he moaned. “Please, Bo... Kouta, slow down.”

“Buckle up, Akaashi, I’m getting us to Hiroshima in record speed!”

“SHINKANSENSOOONNNNN!” hollered Kuroo, bursting into laughter. “Hold on tight, Kitten.”

_“HERE WE ARE NOW, ENTERTAIN US!”_

“SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!” yelled Keiji, clenching his fists.

“Nah, this is cool.”

“Uh...” It was Kenma, jerking his head around, eyes in rapid blink mode. “Kuro.”

 _“I feel stupid, and contagious!”_ Kuroo warbled, smirking at Keiji, while declaiming the song to Kenma.

“KURO!” Kenma called, his voice louder than anytime Keiji had heard.

“Huh?” That stopped him. He stared at Kenma. “What?”

“P-Police car,” he stammered, his eyes wide and voice coming out in starts. “I- I can see it. We _have_ to slow down!”

Police... Keiji sat up straight. He glanced at the speedometer. It was fast but not recklessly so. Twisting around, he glanced out the back window. A car was following, white and black, with ... yeah ... a red light on top. It wasn’t flashing, and the siren wasn’t on, but it was clear they’d clocked Bokuto’s speed and were honing in on him.

On them.

And as he turned back, intent on enforcing on Bokuto the necessity of SLOWING THE FUCK DOWN, something rubbed against his chest. Something in his shirt pocket that he’d forgotten was there. Something from last night.

“Holy. Fuck.”

“No sweat,” Kuroo said, yawning. “Drop your speed, smile prettily at the Officer, Bo-chan, and we’ll be out of here pretty soon. Ticket, maybe, but we can split that. It’s not a –”

He carried on talking. Bokuto began to slow down, the police car gaining on them. And now they were closing in, like vultures, Keiji thought, and he cursed himself for being such a fucking idiot.

“Kenma,” he muttered.

“Hmm?”

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out last night’s spliff, which now he looked at it in daylight looked far less like a normal cigarette than he’d thought. But, if he could get it back in Kenma’s pack.

“Your packet!” he whispered urgently. “I have to get rid of this!”

Kenma’s eyes widened, the full force of what Keiji was telling him sinking in. “Uh... uh ... uh...”  His hands were flittering, patting his jacket, then reaching into the back to grab his bag. And all the while, as Bokuto slowed, the police car was catching up to them. So close now, that Keiji could make out the number plate.

**Possible outcomes of being stopped by police while I have a joint in my hand:**

**Case A:** Officer doesn’t realise what it is and lets us go.  
**Case B:** Officer charges me. I get five... oh my fucking god, I get five years in jail.  
**Case C:** We all go down.

 **Time elapsed:** NO FUCKING TIME AT ALL!

In an instant, Keiji stuffed the joint into his mouth, grabbed his bottle of water and chugged it down.

“What the -”

Kuroo had turned round, his eyes bored into Keiji, narrowing to slits.

“Hey, hey, Officer,” Bokuto’s voice cut through them all. “Was I going too fast?”

“You were rather,” the police officer intoned. His eyes flicked distastefully on them all, no doubt taking in the empty crisp and biscuit packets strewn on the floor as well as the magazines atop the dashboard. “Will you turn the music off, please, sir?”

Kurt Cobain silenced in an instant. The only sound Keiji could hear was the fast thud of his heart as it leapt around in his chest. _It’s not the weed,_ he told himself. _It won’t affect me that soon. All we need to do is pay the fine, then get on our way. I can call into a service cafe, puke the things out and ..._

“Where are you heading?”

“Hiroshima,” Bokuto replied, pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head. “I’ve gotta trial with the Thunders, so ... uh ...”

“Thunders?”

“A volleyball team,” Kuroo offered.

“Not motor racing then?”

“Uh ... no.”

For fuck’s sake let us go!

“Would you get out of the car, sir?  I need to make sure you haven’t been drinking.”

“Sure.” Bokuto grinned again at the officer. “Do you like volleyball, Officer?”

Muttering a ‘no’ (to Bokuto’s chagrin), the police officer then demanded to see car hire documents and licences. Handing them to Bokuto, Kuroo practically forced him out the car, ignoring Bokuto’s plea for someone to come with him.

“Keij?”

“Uh ... no, um, just take the breathalyzer. You’ll be fine.”

“Kenma!” Kuroo rapped. “Go with him!”

Obviously pleased at getting a means of escape, Kenma sidled out the door and wandered towards the police car. He had a game in his hands, his eyes trained on it, but he checked back a few times, giving Keiji a wobbly sort of smile.

“Right,” Kuroo seethed. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“What do you mean?” Keiji said, refusing to be intimidated. He was used to menacing looking opponents. He was used to Kuroo, too, although he’d never seen him looking quite so hooded.

“Don’t fuck around. We don’t have time, for this. I saw you swallow a cigarette, and I’m guessing it didn’t just have tobacco in it.”

“Uh!”

“DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT LYING TO ME!”

“Yes, I did,” Keiji whispered. “Look, I couldn’t think what else to do. If that officer had found it on me, then -”

“Yeah, you’da gone down. BUT swallowing it? How fucking stupid are you, Akaashi!”

“I’ll be fine. I can puke it up when we get away.”

“Yeah, yeah, should make you suffer though, you selfish asshole. Do you really not get what this could do – not just to yourself but to-”

“OF COURSE I DO!” Stung, Keiji’s voiced trebled in volume, causing the three standing by the police car to switch their attention. Kuroo raised his hand, flapping it at them, and Kenma, after a quick wave back, touched Bokuto on the arm. “Look, I couldn’t throw it out the window. That would have incriminated us all, and there’s no fucking way, I’m jeopardising Koutarou’s future. So, I could either have ...” He paused for breath, meaning to mention Kenma’s cigarette packet, but Kenma’s wan face swam before him ‘Kuro would kill me’ he’d said.  “I could have stuffed it back in my pocket and hoped for the best, or else swallowed it. There’s only half left, and I figure I won’t start feeling it for an hour, so-”

“Try half an hour, dumbass,” Kuroo spat, but he looked a lot less angry now. “Why did you have it in the first place? Is this something regular for you?  Does Bo know?”

“Just did, no and not sure,” Keiji answered rapidly. He swallowed some more water. “Look, Kuroo-san, don’t tell him, all right? I don’t know what he’d say and I don’t want anything upsetting his equilibrium before the trial.”

“You think I’m stupid? There’s no way in hell I’m doing or saying anything to upset that guy,” Kuroo hissed. “Just ...” He clenched his fingers into a fist, punching the back of his seat. “Sort yourself out, Akaashi, for his sake as well. Oh, and one more thing.”

“What?” Keiji mumbled, sinking into the backrest, because hell knew Kuroo was right. Keiji had been fucking stupid.

“Have you got anymore? Because if you have, you flush them the next chance we get.”

“I haven’t,” he replied, and maintained eye contact.

Kuroo appeared satisfied, settling back into his seat, muttering a few ‘fucks’ and ‘dumbasses’ under his breath.

_But I have no idea about Kenma._

 

The officer didn’t keep Bokuto long. There was a breathalyzer, a vehicle check, and examination of all the relevant documents (including everyone’s licences) before he declared he was satisfied. He didn’t even issue a ticket, letting Bokuto off with a warning before wishing him luck in the trial.

But it had been fifteen minutes, and with the police car keeping track of them as they drove off, Keiji didn’t have a chance to ask Bokuto to pull over. He could see Kuroo biting his nails as he checked the clock, and Kenma, hunched in his jacket, wasn’t even playing his game, staring instead at Keiji.

“MUSIC!” Bokuto cried. And no one complained.

“Are you okay?”Kenma asked, when Nirvana started again.

 _“Load up on guns, bring your friends,”_ Bokuto wailed. “Hey, Kuroo, next line.”

 _“It's fun to lose and to pretend,”_ Kuroo sang, but with a lot less punch than before.

“I’m fine,” Keiji replied in a whisper. “Have you got more spliffs?”

_“She's over-bored and self-assured,”_

“Uh...”

_“Oh no, I know a dirty word.”_

“We _must_ get rid of them.”

“Not here,” Kenma mumbled. “I only brought that one.”

“Hey, Genius, boy!” Bokuto called, breaking up his singing. “You analyse essays and stuff for college. What’s this song about?  What’s the dirty word?”

“What?”

“The dirty word, he’s singing about,” Bokuto repeated.

“Um... I don’t know,” Keiji dithered.  Something just to the left of his vision appeared to be moving. Something green, or maybe pink. “Could be anything. Fuck, Bitch, um...” He started to giggle, stupidly trying to tick off rude words in his head. “Bum, arse, fart –”

“Heroin.” Kenma interrupted. He smiled a little as Kuroo practically gave himself whiplash to look at them.

“How the hell d’you know that?”

“I work with men in their thirties who think they’re cool,” Kenma replied, shrugging. “This is their anthem, I guess. Kinda boring, really.”

“Cobain was probably whacked out when he wrote it,” Keiji agreed, trying to sound sensible.  He blinked, screwing his eyes shut tight, but opened them quickly when he realised that wasn’t helping. “Can we take a break?  I need to pee?”

“Uh, no services for a while,” Bokuto replied. “Sorry, you’ll just have to hold on.”

He bit his lower lip, stifling the ‘fuck’ he wanted to scream, because now he could feel his mind fugging over, the drug taking hold of his system.

“I could speed up,” Bokuto continued, “but I don’t think they’d let me off a second time.”

Kuroo met Keiji’s gaze in the mirror. He wasn’t smiling.

 

By the time they’d found a service station, it was god knows what time after he’d ingested the marijuana. Keiji didn’t think he had a concept of time now, all he felt was lethargic, and floaty, his brain split two ways, so the upper half was adrift, while the lower half tethered him to the back seat.

“Toilets,” Kuroo ordered. “Come on, Akaashi. I’ll come, too.”

“Tired,” he muttered, but he lurched out of the car, almost tripping on his laces.

“Hey, you all right?”

“Fine, just ... fine,” he assured Bokuto, then, with monumental effort, he held himself upright and walked in a moderately straight line towards Kuroo.

“Get in there, and throw up what you can,” Kuroo ordered. “I’ll wait for you. But, some of it’s already in your system, so you’re just gonna have to tough this out.”

“I’ve never felt this bad.”

“Yeah, because I’m guessing you’ve had the odd toke at a party. Eating it raw is like one big hit.”

“I’m sweating,” he mumbled.

“It’s a hot day.”

“But I’m shivering, too.” He could feel it now, his whole body flushing hot and cold, even to his scalp as the drug hit. And this wasn’t the pleasant laziness of before. It wasn’t smothered giggles and lightness relaxing all his muscles. This wasn’t a long drawl, but a shriek biting at him.

“Oh, fuck!” He bent over clutching his stomach, and before he could stumble to the toilets, threw up in the grass.

“Nice.”

“Shut up!” He retched again. His stomach, empty from no breakfast, hollowed instantly. There was water and what could have been paper from the roll up, mixed with minute brown specks.  His stomach clenched more, his whole body in revolt, and now it was bile projecting out of his mouth.

Kuroo placed a hand on his back. “Probably for the best. Stay here. I’ll buy you some water.”

“Thanks.”

“Think nothin’ of it.” About to set off, he turned back to Akaashi, now crouching down, and ruffled his hair. “Never thought I’d see you like this.”

“Vomiting, you mean?”

“Human,” he replied, “Bo thinks you’re pretty much perfect. It’s grating after a while.”

“Glad I disillusioned you, then,” he moaned.

“Still have no idea why you came with us,” Kuroo told him. “But it sure as hell wasn’t because you wanted to spend time with me.”

“Keeping you out of trouble,” Keiji replied, and twisted his mouth into a grin. “I did a good job, huh?”

Snorting, Kuroo stepped away, leaving Keiji on all fours. The stomach cramps had receded, but his body was clammy, and his hair moist with sweat. He needed water. He needed food. He needed a week in bed and not seeing anyone until he’d recovered.  But that was impossible. He took several lungfuls of breath, hoping it would revive him, but instead he felt more lightheaded.

“Water,” Kuroo said when he returned. He handed over a plastic bag. “And snacks. I’m guessing you need them. Your blood pressure and sugar levels have dropped.  You look like shit, by the way, so you’re going to have to tell your boyfriend something. He’s not an idiot, you know.”

“Yes, I do know,” he snapped, irritated. Then as he opened the bag, noticing everything Kuroo had bought for him (chocolate, a sandwich, crisps and fruit juice) he felt a wave of gratitude towards him. “Um, shall I say it’s something I ate? I’m not exactly lying, am I?”

He started to laugh. Not a snide snort or a bitter grimace, but a throaty belly laugh, the sort of sound Keiji had heard when Kuroo and Bokuto was sharing a joke.

“Not bad, Keiji-kun. Not bad.”

 

***

Kuroo wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that they had two rooms in this hotel. Obviously, giving Bo and Akaashi some privacy had its benefits because there was nothing worse than watching a couple trying not to be all over each other, but then again, now he was lying on his bed, pretending to watch TV, with Kenma only a short hop away.

“Good game?” he asked.

“I’m testing it,” Kenma mumbled. He was sitting up, knees crooked and feet together, his toes wiggling the same way they always had when he was concentrating.

“You landed on your feet with that job, right?”

He creased his brow, then after stabbing one button with his finger, Kenma groaned and shoved the console to his side. “Not really. I don’t get to choose what I test. This one’s in development, really boring and full of glitches.”

“You’re happy though, aren’t you?”

“S’pose,” he muttered. He stared across the room and out of the window. “Been a while, huh?”

And Kuroo didn’t have to ask what he meant because his mind was racing back through the years, recalling the sleepovers, planned and improvised. The times Kuroo had climbed through the window because Kenma wasn’t feeling right. The evenings he’d spent staring at his phone screen because sometimes, sometimes, Kenma needed more than a game and a text goodnight to get him to sleep, he’d need a voice, or a hand on his shoulder.

It changed when he left Nekoma, left the neighbourhood for the other side of Tokyo. The distance wasn’t only measured by kilometres either, but in Kuroo’s expanding horizons. New people to meet, to play volleyball with, to think about dating. And he’d felt guilty about it, guilty to his core, because for a while he’d been able to lose himself in the very newness of it all.

Kenma had sensed that, still visiting, but not staying over – preferring to get the bus back – his trips trickling to non-existent in the past year.

“You could have stayed over more often,” Kuroo replied lightly. “You still can, you know.”

“You’re busy,” Kenma replied. “And I do my best work at night, so...”

“I’m studying to be a doctor, Kenma, we don’t exactly keep nine-to-five hours.”

Someone thumped on the door, a someone who a second later, before they’d opened the door, revealed himself to be Bokuto. 

“Hey, hey, ready to go?”

“Not quite. Where’s Akaashi?”

“Still not feeling great. So just the two... uh ... three of us, right?”

“Kenma?” Kuroo glanced across, moderately surprised to see Kenma hadn’t resumed his game. “You coming, or d’you want me to fetch you takeaway?”

“I’ll come,” he said, bending down to pluck his jacket from the floor. As he straightened up, he met Kuroo’s eyes, then switched his gaze to Bokuto. And the smile that had half appeared vanished. “How is Akaashi-kun?”

Bokuto grimaced.   “Not barfing.”

Kuroo pursed his lips. “Want me to check on him?”

He hadn’t imagined Bokuto’s concern, the way he assented with a series of rapid nods left no doubt he was worried, to say the least. And as much as Kuroo wanted to slap Akaashi for being such an idiot, he assumed his ‘caring almost-doctor’ face and let himself into Bokuto and Akaashi’s room.

“You okay?” he asked bluntly.

Akaashi turned in the bed, displaying a pale green-tinged face. “Yeah, I’m fine now, just tired.”

“Look as if you’re gonna hurl again.”

“It’s not the pot,” Akaashi murmured.  “It’s all the crap I ate after. Surprised I’m not on a sugar high.”

“You don’t want takeout then?” he asked, his hand on the door handle - ready to leave.

“Nope. I want sleep.” He wriggled one shoulder out of the sheet and propped himself on his elbow. “Kuroo-san...”

“Mmm.”

“I’m sorry about earlier. And ... uh ...thank you.”

“What for?”

“Taking care of me. Not telling Koutarou.”

Kuroo studied Akaashi, his usual deadpan expression – the one that hid so much from the world – was for once readable. He was genuinely apologetic, and sincere in his gratitude.

“No sweat,” he said softly. “He matters to me, you know. Matters a lot.”

“Like Kenma, huh?”

“Yeah... sort of.” He chuckled as he leant back on the door, not in such a hurry to leave now. “They’re very different, but you’re right.”

“Not to get all philosophical on your ass, but the people we’re close to, the one’s we align ourselves with are supposed to be representations of ourselves,” Akaashi replied, still from the bed.

“Ha! Right, so I’m some kind of introvert -extrovert obsessed with volleyball, gaming. Incredibly loud, at my best at parties, yet also hating them and wanting to hide in corners.” He fanned his face. “Phew, I am so screwed up.”

“Nah, you’re normal.” Akaashi said and grinned at him. “Human.”

“So ... what do you mean, then?”

But before Akaashi could reply, Bokuto burst through the door, almost sending Kuroo flying.  “Hey, he’s okay, right, Kuroo?” he demanded, then before he could answer, Bokuto turned his attention to Akashi. “You’re alright, ain’t you?”

“I am fine,” Akaashi said, tempering his grin to a softer smile. “Go and have fun, you daft owl. But not too much fun. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“I’m not going to touch a drop,” Bokuto declared stoutly. He stood straight, hands on hips and stuck his chest out. And then he winked, “But if there’s Karaoke ... _‘hello, hello, hello, how low?_ ’”

Throwing a pillow, catching Bokuto square on the face, Akaashi slumped back on the bed. “Go away, or I’ll have a relapse and barf in your kit bag.”

“You see what I have to put up with Kuroo. You see that, you see that?”

Kuroo gazed at the pair of them, watching Akaashi’s face settling back into deadpan, yet looking brighter than before, and Bokuto’s eyes, now golden and animated, whispering their concern.

“You guys are too cute,” he said lightly. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

***

Keiji was dozing when they got back. Good as his word, Bokuto hadn’t drunk any alcohol, the evidence being the way he let himself back in the room without making a noise. Smiling to himself, Keiji mused on Bokuto’s contradictory nature. Not just the split personality on court, but the way he could, at certain times, be so still, quiet, so intent and focused.

He stopped himself from saying a word, instead he peeked from under his lashes as Bokuto stripped for bed, slowly easing off his jeans, whipping off the tee shirt and reaching for his pyjama top.

But instead of putting it on, Bokuto sat on the edge of the bed, motionless.  In the moonlight, Keiji could see the outline of his back, the planes of his shoulder blades, the definition of his muscles – not in repose.

Sitting up, Keiji slithered out of his bed, and edged closer. If Bokuto had heard, he gave no sign of it, but there was a slight start when Keiji touched his fingertips to his back.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, and took a deep breath. “How are you now?”

“I’m good.” With his hand, he moved up to Bokuto’s shoulders, letting his thumb glide over his neck, and he frowned. “You are very tense.”

“It’s nothin’.”

“This is me you’re talking to,” Keiji admonished. “I know you ... Ace.”

There was a gasp,  kind of choked, and then a whistling sigh. “Guess I’m nervous.”

“Only natural. This is a big chance for you.”

“What if I blow it? What if I fuck up, Keij?”

“You won’t,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “But even then, there are other clubs.”

“Mmm, Tokyo, I know. Maybe that would be better. I could stay with you then.”

Keiji squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t be thinking of me at the trial,” he mumbled, and swallowed. “This is your future, your chance. And this club could make you.”

“I’d miss ya though.” He glanced over his shoulder, his profile softer in the dark. “You’d visit, right?”

He was glad of the dark, glad because he could hide because as easy as it was to remain expressionless when everyone else were losing their shit, Bokuto could always tell. He had this odd perception at times, where just when you though he was only focused on himself, he’d throw something into the mix that displayed just how observant he really was.

“Any opportunity,” Keiji replied, and closed his eyes because at least that wasn’t a lie.  

“Don’t know what I’d do without ya, Keij,” he said as he shifted onto the bed. “You got me here, you know?”

“Rubbish,” Keiji retorted. Raising his hands, he gently pushed Bokuto onto the bed, letting his fingers glide down his chest. “You make your own luck, Koutarou. And this chance is all down to you.”

But he was lying, and they both knew it. While Bokuto had talent by the bucketload and a thirst to succeed that equalled the Sahara, his downturns still occurred, and even though Keiji wasn’t his starting Setter anymore, having him on the sidelines, and in his bed, kept him focused.

Blocking out the dilemma, Keiji began to kiss Bokuto’s neck. “I’m here for you, okay,” he whispered. “And you need to relax.”

He shifted down a little, touching his fingertips across Bokuto’s skin, teasing away at the few tufts of curling chest hair, and letting his tongue glide over his left nipple.

Rewarded by the hum at the back of Bokuto’s throat, Keiji continued his ministrations, pouting his lips, nuzzling with his teeth until he’d mazed a path downwards.

“Keijiiiii,” Bokuto moaned.

Hooking his thumbs into Bokuto’s boxers, he slid them to mid-thigh, exposing just enough so he could get to work, allowing Bokuto to enjoy the vague feeling of constriction around his legs.

And then, at the same time as he slipped his fingers under Bokuto’s cock, Keiji took him in his mouth, starting with teasing lick before pushing himself down the shaft.

He could hear Bokuto’s groans, feel his legs ache to wrench apart, see Bokuto’s hands clench at the bed sheet before fisting themselves into Keiji’s’ hair. He held Keiji in place, muttering vague apologies – the way he always did even though he knew Keiji had no objections – and then he lifted his buttocks off the bed.

It was a small movement, and yet it was a strong enough hint. He wasn’t bucking yet, and the sounds emerging from his mouth weren’t the keen he made when he climaxed, but the whimpering of the not yet sated.

“What do you want, Kouta-chan?” Keiji whispered, breaking the connection.

“You,” he muffled. “Inside.”

“Oh ...” He slid his finger on the whorl of Bokuto’s anus. “Like this?”

“Mmmffmm.”

In the drawer by his bed, Keiji fumbled for the lube. He slicked up his fingers, keeping eye contact with Bokuto the whole time, smiling down at him. He loved Bokuto’s almost shy expression, anticipation and a faint feeling of shame combining to heighten every sensation. On court he dominated. On court, he was the presence – loud and commanding. On court, he was Bokuto-san, the one everyone watched. But here, in the bedroom, in the moonlit- slivered darkness, Bokuto belonged to Keiji, and no one else.

He jabbed inside with his finger, feeling the initial tense, hearing the hitch in his breath, and then as Bokuto relaxed, he slowed the pace, sliding inside, up to the first knuckle then the second, loving the way Bokuto was starting to quiver.

“Another,” he mumbled.

Keiji remained silent, but complied. With two fingers drenched in lube, he wriggled them inside, scissoring to stretch – just in case. But Bokuto seemed content with this, his thighs straining to part, but not yet clawing at his boxers for release from their elastic bond. So, taking his cue from Bokuto’s need, Keiji jabbed again, harder this time, half-withdrawing then stabbing swiftly.

“Like this?”

“Harder,” he groaned, and again the shame was back in his voice, mingled with a very real need. “Keiji.”

“Yes.”

“This is _so_ good.”

He quickened the pace, then, with his other hand, Keiji grasped Bokuto’s cock. Sometimes he liked it rough, sometimes he hated to be touched. This time, it appeared, he wanted Keiji’s hand in place, but from the fluttering of his own hand to Keiji’s wrist, it was not to move.

Not yet.

He continued to work him inside, slipping up and down, feeling the muscles clench as Bokuto gasped and groaned until finally, finally, he released Keiji’s wrist.

“Please,” he rasped.

He gripped him hard, tugging at his cock, still jabbing with his fingers. And Keiji smiled, because Bokuto transported, his hair even more askew as he writhed on the pillow, was far more beautiful that he’d ever been able to imagine, and no matter how many times he saw this, he could never tire or rid himself of the thrill that _he_ was making this happen to his Ace.

Bokuto came with buck and a yell, his eyes screwed tight before flying open. His mouth wide, the ready grin, not quite ready at all, as he floated back down to the bed.

“Oryaa,” he said, but it was quiet, not his on-court battle cry.

“Think you’ll sleep now?”

Bokuto’s smile returned, his energy boundless as he reached over, grabbing Keiji by the waist. “I haven’t finished yet. Come here.”

***

“Akaashi-kun was okay, wasn’t he?”

Angling the remote at the television, Kuroo paused his perusal of the available channels and frowned.

“I’m not going in to check on him, if that’s what you’re asking,” he muttered.

It was the second time Kenma had asked that evening, not unusual, but the fact Kenma was raking his fingers through his hair and hadn’t immediately picked up his game, was jarring.

“Bo’ll soon yell if something’s wrong, but I’m pretty sure Akaashi’s not gonna die on us.”

“How d’you know?” Kenma gnawed at his thumb. “He looked pretty awful.”

An advert for lipstick appeared on the screen, a pouting girl smoothing the palest of pinks over her dark cherry lips.  He wondered why, not the make-up and artifice, but why she’d choose such a colour. Fun, he supposed, a chance to look a little different. Maybe it was to fit in, he mused as the girl joined her similarly styled friends.

“’Cause all that kid needs is sleep, water and someone to shake some sense into him!” he said, still squinting at the girl. “Akaashi’s a dumbass.”

“Huh?”

Sighing, Kuroo put down the remote, swung his legs off the side of the bed and soft punched Kenma on the arm. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but ... uh ... Akaashi pulled a whitey.”

Kenma began to blink rapidly. “W-what?”

“Uh, okay, do you know what that means? Sorry, I’ll explain. He smokes pot – must have had a joint last night and he’d left it in his pocket. When we were being chased by the cops, he ... had to get rid of it. So he swallowed it. And got a hit that made him feel like shit.”  He sighed and clicked his tongue on his teeth. “Like I said, he’s a fucking dumbass. Hell knows what Bo’s gonna think.”

“You’re telling him.”

“I will if Akaashi don’t.”

“Why?”

Kuroo rolled his eyes, wondering sometimes how Kenma could be so clueless. “Because if Akaashi gets caught, it’ll affect him, too. He can piss away his own future, but not Bo’s. I won’t let him.”

“M-maybe it’s a one-off.”

Kuroo shrugged. “Prob’ly is. I get the feeling he’s not a regular the way he was yocking up.” He shifted back up the bad, leaning on the headboard. “Hopefully it’s scared him off. But he better be telling me the truth and he doesn’t have any more stashed on him.” He slapped his forehead. “I should check. I’ll go through his stuff in –”

“He doesn’t.”

“The morning. He can’t complain. He’s the idiot that could have landed us all in –”

“Kuro.”

“Jail... Uh ... what?”

“Akaashi-kun doesn’t have any more pot.”

“Uh... sorry...” He shook his head from side-to side as if trying to clear his ears. “How d’you know? Hell, I didn’t think he was the type, but –”

“Type?”

“You know, pot-heads with no future, shutting themselves in their rooms, preferring weed to a night out, not bothering with-”

“Like me, you mean?”

“What... No, no, of course not!”

Kenma shuffled forwards, letting his legs swing off the edge of the bed. His eyes were wide and frank, but unease sat in them, and a small bead of sweat formed on his brow. “Kuro,” he began, then stopped and cleared his throat. “Kuro...”

“What’s up, Kitten?”  He winked. “I won’t let them put you in jail. Akaashi’s the idiot, not-”

“No.” The word was loud. Final. “ _Listen_ to me.”

“Uh ... I am listening,” Kuroo said. “We’ll be fine. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It was mine.”

“What?”

“The weed. The joint. The pot,” Kenma intoned. “It. Was. Mine. I’m the dumbass who could have pissed away Bokuto-san’s future, Kuro. And yours.” He licked his lips. They were dry and peeling a touch, Kuroo noticed. “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note for you all: The penalty for smoking/possessing marijuana in Japan is much more severe than in a lot of other countries. Basically, it's viewed as a hard drug, and if you're caught you can get up to five years in jail. There's also an automatic disgrace attached to it, and students can and will be kicked out of university. Kuroo ain't an idiot.


	3. Solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter.  
> I hope you enjoyed this, ackermanx. I really did enjoy exploring the dynamics between the four of them, even though they gave me headaches at times, so thank you very much for the prompt.

It would have been hard not to be upbeat at breakfast the next morning. Bokuto, having gone for an early jog, was in tearing spirits. He was at his most hyper, but in a good way, not careless, not knocking things over, but laughing, chatting, ready to set, if not the world then JT Thunders alight.

Keiji, sitting alongside him as they munched their way through omelettes, rice and pickles, laughed with him, at one point spitting his coffee out across the table.

Kuroo, however, failed to laugh. Stony faced, and with eyes the colour of pitch, he stabbed at his food, piling it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing with the type of irritation he’d used to reserve for the slackers on his team.

Alongside, but clearly not _with_ him, Kenma picked at some fruit. But although he was pallid and tired, there was a glint in his eyes when he stared at Kuroo. Defensive, but not cowed. Sullen.  

“What’s up, Kuroo-hoo-hoo?” Bokuto asked.

 “Not my dick.” It was his usual reply, but not normally said so sourly.

Exchanging eyemeets with Keiji, Bokuto stifled a snort and began to drum out a rhythm on the table. He was adding what he called ‘percussion’ but was in reality a spoon against his tea cup, when Kuroo snapped.

“Quit it!”

“Someone got out of bed the wrong side,” Keiji said softly and smiled.

“Someone got out of bed in the wrong dimension,” Bokuto stage whispered, still grinning. “C’mon, Kuro, lighten up.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Huh?”

“It’s Kuroo, got it. Not Kuro or Tetsurou, but Kuroo!”

Bokuto splayed his palms. “Oh-kay. Gotcha, Kuroo- _san.”_

The silence was sticky. Kenma crumpled a napkin in his hand, and nibbled at a piece of watermelon. He avoided everyone’s eyes, instead staring intently out of the window.

“Looks good weather,” Keiji ventured after a while. “What should we do while Ace-san’s busy?”

“Whatever. Not bothered,” Kuroo muttered. He sipped some coffee, grimaced, then added a sugar lump, stirring slowly. “Sorry, bad night’s sleep. We can’t watch you, right?”

Bokuto shook his head. “It’s closed or I’d have had you all there.”

“’Kay,” he said, still morose. “What time d’you finish?”

“Three.”  He chewed on more omelette, finishing with one swallow, then continued, jabbing his chopsticks in the air. “You know, we don’t have to stay here tonight. We could move on.”

“Go home, you mean?” Kuroo asked. He considered, but as he was about to nod, Bokuto interrupted.

“Remember when we were first plannin’ this trip, Kuroo?”

“I remember the hangover,” he said drily.

Bokuto chuckled. “Yeah, me too. Uh, but also, we said we wanted to go to Iwakuni,  remember?”

“Kintai Bridge, yeah...” Kuroo’s eyes were hooded again.

“Not the best time to see it,” Keiji pointed out.

“Yeah,yeah, I know Spring’s supposed to be the best, with all the cherry trees,” Bokuto replied, but flashed him the cheekiest of grins. “But as we’re so close... why not?”

“Fine by me,” Keiji decided.

“Well, I’m not driving,” Kuroo declared. “As we’re stuck here, I’m gonna find a bar and get drunk.”

“I’ll drive.”

Keiji wasn’t sure why he was so surprised to hear Kenma’s offer. He could drive, after all, and they were supposed to be sharing the responsibility. It was ... unexpected, he guessed, for Kenma to volunteer.

“Hey, cool! Great!” Bokuto enthused. Checking his watch, he drained his juice, then got to his feet. “Anyway, guys, I’m gonna get ready. Shit and a shave.  You comin’, Keij?”

He was about to agree when two things happened – his phone went off (his mum again) and Kuroo’s eyes boring into him.  Stifling the flinch, he stared impassively across the table, then turned his gaze to Bokuto, giving him a glimmer of a smile. “I need more coffee, Koutarou. You don’t want me falling asleep at the wheel when I drop you off.”

Bokuto’s eyes strayed from Keiji and to the other two. For a moment, they narrowed, hawk-like, focussing in on Kuroo and then to Kenma, and Keiji wondered what he’d seen. But now was not the time. He touched his hand.  “Give me ten minutes, Ace, will you?”

“Mmm, sure,” he muttered. His grin returned, less wide, more gauging, zeroing in on Kuroo. “You’re coming to see me off, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Kuroo replied, and the beam he flashed back at Bokuto, though a little ashamed, was genuine. “We all will, won’t we, Kenma?”

Kenma nodded. He even murmured a ‘yeah’, and unknotted his frown. “It’s why we’re here, Bokuto-san.”

“Oh-kay,” Keiji began when Bokuto had slipped out the door. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?  Only I don’t want anything bringing Bokuto down this morning. This is important, right? It’s the reason we’re all here, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Kuroo’s words dropped like a stone in a pond. He lowered his voice, leaning across the table to hiss, “And there was me thinking you and Kitten here were running some kind of drug ring.”

“One joint,” Kenma muttered. “One, that’s all. And it’s gone.”

He got up, the action causing his glass of water to wobble, slopping its contents over the side to soak the tablecloth. “I’ll wait by the car.”

“Yeah, ‘cause talking about this isn’t a good thing at all!” Kuroo hollered, not caring that the other hotel guests were staring at them.

“’Talking’, that’s what you call it, is it?” Kenma snapped. He turned on his heel, surprisingly quickly for someone Keiji considered in permanent lethargy mode. Then he gave an odd sort of bow half to Keiji, half to the room. “You asked me why I was here, Akaashi-kun. Have to say, I have no idea.”

And with that he left, trudging out of the dining room. Keiji heard his footsteps heading to the door, and then the unmistakeable sound of a groan from Kuroo.

“Were you going to tell me?”

He didn’t have to ask what Kuroo was talking about. “About Kenma?” He shrugged. “Nope.”

“Why not?” he asked, sounding aggressive.

“Why should I?” Keiji retorted, and poured himself more coffee. “It’s _his_ business.”

“Meaning I should forget this and not tell Bo, right?”

“Not at all.” Keiji fixed him with a gimlet glare. “You’re thinking of Bokuto.”

“And you’re not even considering me. Is that what you’re saying, Akaashi- _kun_?”

“It’s not the same situation,” Keiji stated. “I’m _with_ Bokuto. We live together, have fun together. We ... _fuck_ , Kuroo- _san_.” He let the words sink in, watched Kuroo’s expression change from cynicism to comprehension and then _pain_.

“You see, I understand why you feel you have to tell Bokuto. He’s your friend, and you’re protective. I like that about you,” Keiji continued softly. “But your situation with Kenma is –”

“Different, yeah, I get it.” He stopped to take a drink, swilling the water around his mouth as he ruminated on Keiji’s words. “I ... I don’t get it. I don’t understand why he has to smoke that stuff.”

“He said-”

_‘Phring Phring.’_

“He said what?”

Keiji shook his head. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he muttered. “I’ll see you by the car.”

“Your ‘mom’, right? Go ahead,” Kuroo replied, waving dismissively.

But his eyes had narrowed again, and Keiji felt the guilt within him flame to his face. He dashed out the hotel, leant against the wall and took a long breath. Kenma, true to his word was slumped by the car, game in hand, but staring at the sky.

“Hello,” Keiji murmured, finally accepting the call. “I’m fine. No, sorry, I don’t know yet.”

 

The forecourt outside the Thunders’ stadium was heaving with nervous trialists when Kuroo drove into the car park. It was another scorching day, the sun beating down on them, but he lifted his shades off his face when he spotted a familiar figure getting out of a small white car.

“Hey, that’s Tooru.”

“Really?” Bokuto’s eyes were round and a smile tugged at his cheek. “I didn’t know he had a trial, too. Why’d he not tell me?”

“Did you tell him?” Akaashi asked from the back seat.

“Yeah, and I told him all about us travelling down. We coulda carpooled.”

“That’s probably why,” Kuroo murmured, watching as Oikawa slammed his car door and sauntered to the boot to retrieve his kit bag. Another guy got out, shorter and with darker hair, one Kuroo recognised from his visits to watch their college matches. “And there’s ‘Iwa-chan’. Also with a kit-bag. Interesting.”

“He’s a wing-spiker.” Bokuto sounded thoughtful. “I’ve seen him play.”

Kuroo ruffled Bokuto’s hair, finishing with a punch on his arm. “You can take him, Ace. Go get ‘em!”

It was Akaashi who turned to Kenma, explaining who the others were, telling him that Oikawa was the official college Setter. “He’s amazing. Quite brilliant.  Not like Kageyama, he’s a different type of brilliant, but Oikawa reads the players and the game incredibly well.”

“Not as good as you, Keij,” Bokuto muttered.

“You’re an idiot, Kou-chan. Oikawa could whoop my ass any day of the week one-handed and blind,” Akaashi replied, chuckling.

For someone who was so impassive, so shrouded and closed, relief twitched his face, rendering him happy and relaxed.

Kuroo pressed his lips together, wanting to know what was going on in Akaashi’s head, but now was not the time.

“I might actually get a game when he’s gone,” Akaashi was telling Kenma. “He casts a long shadow, though.”

“Grand-king,” Kenma murmured.

“Sorry?”

“Shouyou’s mentioned him,” he replied, and focused his attention on the pair now striding into the stadium. “And Iwaizumi Hajime. Seijou’s Ace. Shouyou said he was good, too. But ... uh ... not in your class, Bokuto-san.”

After a brief hug and several slaps on the back, Kuroo slid back into the car, letting Akaashi have the final words with their Ace. He was better at that than Kuroo, the years of handling him sat easily on his shoulders. But for all that, there was something catching at Akaashi’s throat, something Kuroo couldn’t quite put his finger on. Because, yes, he knew, he could fucking see how much Akaashi cared for Bo, but was that enough?

“If you break him,” he whispered. “I’ll break you.”

“He won’t.”

It was Kenma, so silent Kuroo had almost forgotten he was there, except he had known because it was Kenma’s absence he noticed, like a tooth suddenly missing.

“And you know that based on sharing a funny cigarette with him, huh?”

“Maybe.” Kenma shrugged.

“You haven’t seen him for years, not properly.”

“People don’t change,” Kenma murmured. “Not fundamentally. They can be re-educated and change opinions, but the core’s the same.”

“Maybe you should be studying psychology and not Akaashi-kun.”

“Philosophy – that’s what he’s studying,” Kenma replied.

“Whatever. Your point is?”

“Akaashi-kun always let Bokuto-san have the greatest part, yeah. He was the Setter that took them to Nationals, but Bokuto’s the one who’s remembered.”

“Bo’s a class apart.”

“Akaashi got him there. All those sessions just the two of them at Training Camp weren’t for Fukurodani, not really. They were for Bokuto.”

Kuroo snorted, part of him agreed, knew how unselfish Akaashi had been, but another part – the petty part, he realised – disagreed because ... because ...

“I think he’s got someone else.”

“Huh, how d’you figure that?”

“Jeez, Kenma, even you can’t be that out of it, no matter how much wacky baccy you’ve been smoking.” He ignored Kenma’s scowl instead leaning forwards to whisper, “All those calls, supposedly from his ‘mom’. Yeah, right.”

“Could be.”

“Nope. Why would he need to take them in private? Akaashi’s mom loves Bokuto. She makes him cakes, knits him jumpers and scarves. There’s something going on.”

Kenma blinked slowly, and sucked on his lip. “Doesn’t mean it’s someone else. If he was cheating, wouldn’t he have stayed in Tokyo?”

Kuroo grunted something, not wanting to think about the logic of Kenma’s answer. What the fuck did he know, anyway?

“Right, I think that’s Bokuto revved up,” Akaashi said, sliding back into the car. He grinned, pumping his fist out the window. “Go Go ACE!”

“GO, GO, BO! GO, GO, BO!”  Kuroo roared.

Bokuto turned around, started to jog backwards punching the air with his fists, and from the stadium door, Oikawa and Iwaizumi waited, raising their hands in greeting.

“Ah, he’ll be good now,” Akaashi said, huffing out his cheeks. “So, what shall we do?”

“As soon as they’re open. I’m hitting a bar. I already told you that,” Kuroo warned.

“I want some sleep,” Kenma said, yawning.

Akaashi grimaced as he put his seat belt on. “We all separate without him, don’t we?” He sighed. “Think I’ll explore.”

***

He was playing a game with coasters. Piling them up on the edge of the table, then flipping them with his fingers, before catching them in his hand. Or trying to. The more beer he drank, the fewer coasters he could catch.

“There’s probably a theory explaining this,” Kuroo murmured to himself, wondering if Sawamura would know. “Inverse proportionality of something. But maybe it’s just ‘cause I’m pissed.”

As he gathered the coasters together, shuffling in his hands, a figure cast a shadow over his beer. He glanced up, not entirely surprised to see Akaashi standing over him even though it was barely two o’clock.

“Not time already, is it?”

“Thought I’d join you,” Akaashi said, pulling up a chair. He raked his hand through his hair. It fell in damp tendrils on to his forehead, emphasising a flush in his face. “I could do with a cold one. It’s hot out there.”

“Mmm, where did you go?”

“Hiroshima Castle and then the Peace Memorial. Fascinating and thought provoking,” he said, splaying his hands on the table in front of him. “I needed some space.”

Raising his bottle to his lips, Kuroo peered across at his companion. “You could have stayed in Tokyo if you needed space, Akaashi-kun. Still don’t know why you came along.”

“To support Bokuto, of course, and to make sure he wasn’t distracted.”

“By what?”

“It’s his final year, Kuroo. And I know he wants to be a pro, but he needs to finish his degree, get a good grade, just in case the worst happens. I didn’t think the pair of you travelling the country for a month was going to help.”

Kuroo chuckled. Signalling to the waiter, he had him bring over two more beers.

“You’ve been had, Akaashi-kun.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think I’ve got time to hare round Japan for a month. I told Bo two weeks was impossible, said I’d come down on the coach with him. One overnight stay.”

“I wanted him to fly down.”

“Instead of which, he got the pair of us away with him for a week. Gah, he’s a sneaky bastard.”

Akaashi smirked, his eyes glimmering. “Konoha used to say Bokuto’s stupidity was genius. Pissed him off no end.”

“You’re gonna miss him, aren’t you?”

He sipped his beer. “So will you.”

“Yup, there will be a Bokuto sized hole in my social life. But on the upside, I won’t have to go to karaoke bars with him.”

“He says you drag him there.”

“We drag each other. Always regret it the next morning, though.”

“You have other friends, Kuroo.”

“Most of who are leaving at the end of this year. None of the guys studying medicine are volleyball players, so ...” Gathering up the coasters again, he teased them into a pile preparing another flip. “Maybe you and me can go for a drink sometime. You have to have a better voice than Bo’s.”

Akaashi blinked. And then Kuroo knew he wasn’t imagining it. There was something going on, something he hadn’t said, was keeping secret from everyone. He looked shifty, his fingernails picking at the foil label on his bottle.

“Yeah, maybe,” he muttered, but instead of expanding he tipped the bottle to his lips, taking a long and satisfying glug. “We should go back to the hotel, pack our stuff and check out.”

***

“I’m telling you, guys, it was fucking amazing. Their training gym is fucking huge. I coulda got lost in it. I mean, I didn’t, but, fucking wow it was fantastic.”

“And the session was good, yeah.”

“Uh-huh. I hit a bunch of strikes, straights and cross-court. We had some three-on-threes, then a game. Tooru was freaking awesome, I’m telling ya. And Iwaizumi, he played well. Those guys are so in sync, but ... uh ...” Bokuto grinned at them all, his eyebrows waggling and hair wet from a hasty shower, even more unkempt than usual. “I was MAGNIFICENT!”

“Oryaa!” Akaashi fist bumped him. “I knew it!”

Kuroo from the passenger seat handed Bokuto some water. “So, when do you find out?”

“Couple of weeks, I guess. ‘Course, I’m gonna tryout for Tokyo as well. You guys can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Kuro?”

“Yep.”

“Which way?”

“Huh?  Oh, next left,” Kuroo replied and twisted back to face the front, prodding the map on his legs. “Follow the road, right.”

“But you liked Hiroshima?” Akaashi was saying.

“Yeah.” His eyes went dreamy. “I could kinda see myself here, powering a ball over the net.”

Kuroo eyed him in the mirror, watched as Bokuto sprawled out, resting his head in Akaashi’s lap, exhausted but still too hyper to sleep. Akaashi’s fingers teased through the knots in Bokuto’s hair, his thumb smoothing his eyebrows and the creases in his forehead. He caught Kuroo’s eye and smiled wryly. “Kuroo-san was saying he’s going to miss his Karaoke partner if you move. Maybe we should have scouted out a few places in Hiroshima.”

“Plenty of time,” Bokuto replied, and yawned noisily. “Might have a nap.”

“We’ll be there soon,” Akaashi said. “It’s not a long drive.”

Kuroo gazed out the window. They’d be hitting the coast road soon. He’d turn off the air con, open the window and let the sea breeze rather than traffic fumes infiltrate the car. With the sun beating down on them, and the beer in his bloodstream, his eyelids were heavy. Extending his legs, he decided a few minutes sleep wouldn’t do any harm.

 

The car was slowing. Somewhere in his head, he could hear an exasperated sigh, a thump on the steering wheel and a strangled ‘fuck this!’  That alerted him. That wrenched him out of the odd dream he was having about Bokuto and him crushing watermelons in a bar.

“What!” He jerked awake. “Kitten, what’s wrong.”

“ _I’ve_ gone wrong,” Kenma retorted. He was biting his lip, gnawing at the side, so hard he was close to drawing blood.

“This isn’t the coast road.” Kuroo took in the surroundings. The grey rectangular buildings, modern and ugly, barely disguised behind parched trees and ugly tram wires. “What the f- This is Hiroshima, isn’t it?”

“No, don’t think so,” Akaashi murmured from the back. “I can see the castle in the distance. We’ve gone past the city.”

“I turned left then right, like you said,” Kenma replied. “It was-”

“No, left!  That’s what I said.  JUST LEFT!”

“You said left, then right,” Kenma muttered, his voice rasping. “And then, when I realised it was wrong, I tried to ask but all of you were asleep. And I’ve not been able to pull over.”

“You can now,” Akaashi intervened. “Kenma, there’s a rest stop over there. Pull over and we’ll work it out.”

“We need to get to Iwakuni by five. I booked us a hotel,” Kuroo said, starting to feel aggravated, because, fuck it, did he have to do everything on this trip?

“Call them,” Akaashi said. “Explain we might be late.”

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Fuck that. Out of charge.”

“No problem, I can call. What’s the hotel called?”

“Uh...”

“You don’t know.”

“It’s on my phone. All the details. Shit!”

Akaashi half-closed his eyes. It was the exact same expression Kuroo remembered from High School when he was steeling himself to deal with another of Bokuto’s mood swings. And that feeling that he was the one being assessed pissed him off. He wanted to protest that none of this was his damn fault, but then, barely a second later, Akaashi cut him off.

“Right. Let’s pull over, work out where we are, and see if we can make it to Iwakuni before five. Then, if Kuroo can’t remember the name of the hotel, we find an internet cafe to charge your phone. If we’re too late for that, we can find another hotel.”

“That’s my boy.” Bokuto stirred slightly, his voice a tease and a blur. “See, Kuroo, I always said my Setter was smarter than yours. Hey, he’s even smarter than you. Who’da thought it?”

“I wasn’t the one that got us lost,” he snapped, irritation raising his hackles.

“You’re the map guy, ain’t ya?” Bokuto laughed. “You got us lost leaving Tokyo, too, remember?”

Kenma pulled into the stop, jerking back on the brakes, saying nothing. He didn’t even look at Kuroo, but began to rub at the bridge of his nose.

“So, where the fuck are we?” Kuroo demanded, not really to anyone in the car, more to whatever deity was watching over them. He scanned the road ahead, the signs and the landmarks, then snatched up the map from the floor. “Where did you go wrong?” Kenma didn’t move, even when Kuroo shoved the map under his nose, the drink and hunger making his exasperation stronger.

“I don’t know,” he said wearily, and swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Kuroo-san,” Akaashi murmured, leaning forwards between both seats. “Where were we when you gave the last directions? Maybe we can work out where we are from there?”

Logical, so why hadn’t he thought of it? Grabbing the map back from Kenma (who was now resting his head on the steering wheel) Kuroo tried to find the spot. It had been before they reached the coast road. He’d said turn left. His finger found the junction, just inside Hiroshima, and then squinting at the map, he attempted to find the possible path Kenma could have taken.

But his head was spinning, booze, hunger, frustration and tiredness leeching out of him (because hell knew watching Kenma curled up in the bed next to him, back turned and refusing to talk, had not enabled him to have a restful night’s sleep) and trying to decipher the roads leading out of Hiroshima was proving incredibly difficult.

“I don’t fucking know!” he yelped, and threw the map away from him. It landed on Kenma, the corner hitting his eye.

“Ow!”

“It was an accident!” he snarled.

“You should still say sorry.” Bokuto sat straight up, cuffing Kuroo round the head. “Manners, Kuroo-hoo-hoo.”

“You can shut the fuck up as well! Maybe if... maybe if I wasn’t having to do every fucking thing on this trip, having to keep the three of you outta trouble, babysitting a pair of fucking dumbass kids, then I WOULD say sorry, but this is -”

“Hey!” The playfulness had gone, Bokuto grabbed Kuroo’s hair, twisting him around to face him. “What the fuck’s got into you?”

“Beer,” Kenma muttered.

“You can’t fucking talk.”

“What _is_ going on! Keiji, what’s up?”

“It’s ... uh ...” Akaashi, usually so coherent was stumbling on his words. He reached forward, picked up the map and in a very obvious change of subject started to think out loud about the route and where they could be.

“I don’t get drunk and nasty,” Kenma said, and he was picking his words, choosing carefully, emphasising for maximum impact. “I don’t get opinionated and assume I’m right. What I do, Kuroo-san, doesn’t harm you in the slightest, whereas you-”

“Apart from nearly getting all of us sent down!” Kuroo shouted. “Making Akaashi ill. No, you didn’t harm-”

“That wasn’t his fault,” Akaashi interrupted.

Bokuto’s head twitched from one side to another, trying to take in the conversation much as he’d try to watch a tennis match, unsure which player to watch, only focussing on the ball. “What’s this about?”

There was no answer. Kuroo, Akaashi and Kenma looked stolidly away from each other, the effect only making Bokuto more frustrated. “TELL ME! One of you’s been an asshole, and I’m taking a stab at this, so... Kuroo, what ya done?”

“It’s the two of them!” Kuroo snapped back, now even more riled. “Fucking pot-heads! Fuckin’ smoking weed and-”

“Thanks!” muttered Akaashi through gritted. “Thanks a fucking bunch, Kuroo!”  He unclenched his jaw, hissed a breath through his teeth and tentatively touched Bokuto on the shoulder. “Uh... Koutarou, I ... um ... I’ve got to tell you something.”

“You smoke weed.” It wasn’t a question. He released Kuroo’s hair and turned his attention of Akaashi.

“Not all the time. I had one joint. Well, a few puffs, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Huh  You _know_?” Akaashi’s eyes were round and he started to bite his nails. “Um ... how.”

“I ain’t an idiot, Keiji. I smelt it on your clothes.”

“And didn’t say anything?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t want to say anything ‘fore the tryouts. And, anyway, it’s your business.”

Kuroo shook his head, not quite sure what he was hearing. “Uh, Bo, these dumbasses coulda landed us all in shit. There was a joint in this car when we got pulled over. Then this guy swallowed the evidence, and that’s why he was puking his guts out.”

“Really?” Bokuto knotted his brows together, then flashed Akaashi half a smile. “Must make sure I never get done for speeding again, I guess.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Uh ... I kinda do, Keij, but it’s ... um ...” For once it appeared Bokuto was struggling to speak, to find the words, and he caught Kuroo’s eye in the mirror. “I don’t think it’s up to me to tell ya what to do. And maybe you got your reasons.”

“The only reason was idiocy,” Akaashi muttered. “Sorry.”

There was no mistaking the tenderness in Bokuto’s eyes, or Akaashi’s either. And each fingertip touch as they pressed their palms together. Despite the envy and regret clawing at his insides, Kuroo couldn’t look away, drawn to their very intimacy, until at last he closed his eyes to block the tears.

The click of the door handle dragged him back to reality. “Excuse me. I want some air,” Kenma muttered. He gazed unblinking at the couple in the backseat and coughed. “Bokuto-san, it was my fault. All of it. Just so you know.”

And then he slid out of the car, slamming the door shut and sitting on the curb. There was a heat haze on the road, the sun still oppressive at four in the afternoon, but Kenma had no hat or sunglasses, just his hood.

“How can you be so calm about this, Bo?” Kuroo whispered. “It’s so fucking dumb!”

But it was Akaashi who answered, giving Bokuto’s hand a squeeze, before saying, “Kenma told me that it takes the ‘edge’ off things for him. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you, but ...”

He closed his eyes, hissing in a breath. “Yeah, yeah it does.”

Easing himself out the car, Kuroo planted his feet firmly on the ground, and wandered towards Kenma. 

“Hey, Kitten. How are you doing?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh-kay. Uh ... why not?”

“I hate it. We’re not kids anymore, Kuro. I’m not ... I can’t do this. I fucked up, I know, so if you’ve come out here to have another go, to tear me off a strip, warn me off drugs, then please ... just do it without reminding me that we were friends.”

It was the past tense that shocked him, that and Kenma stringing together sentences rife with pain. “Were? Uh ... Kenma, what’s wrong?”

“Were. Were. We _were_ friends, Kuroo. I don’t think we are now, and I was dumb to think we could pick up, carry on, prog- whatever.” He clutched his legs, dragging then to his chest and hiding his face in his knees.

“Kenma... It’s a row, that’s all. We’ve ... we’ve had them before.”

But had they? Sure Kenma’d had the occasional strop when he was tired, and Kuroo used to fly off the handle at dumb things, but Kenma hadn’t been the dumb thing. Not ever.  He closed himself off, or down rather, when he was hurt, not allowing himself to feel. And Kuroo had never known how to get through that, instead he’d waited for the clouds to clear, cajoling with jibes or treats.

He’d thought he was helping, but he’d never understood, not really.

He joined him on the curb, stretched out his hand to ruffle Kenma’s hair, then thought better of it. “I’m sorry about this year. I’ve not been around much.”

Kenma sniffed. “S’alright. I understand.”

“No, it’s not all right. I ...” He gulped at the air, willing the words to come out of his mouth is a kind way, a gentle way or failing that, a neutral way. He didn’t want to sound bitter – that was the last thing Kenma needed.

“Somewhere along the line, Kitten ... sorry, Kenma, I realised you didn’t need me anymore. You had Shorty – Hinata, I mean – and –”

“Shouyou?” Kenma’s head twitched a little, but he didn’t raise it from his knees. “What’s he got to do with it?”

“You ... uh ... you _like_ him, don’t you?”

“’Course I do. He’s ... Kuro, Shouyou’s my friend.  The first. The first friend I made- only friend-”

 _Uh ... sorry, what am I?_ he wanted to yell, but stayed silent, letting Kenma talk or mumble his way to comprehensibility.

“Since you,” he finished, then after a sniff, he continued. “The only friend I’ve made that’s not been down to you. Shouyou appeared and ...” He trailed off. Kuroo could hear the happiness in his voice. “He was annoying, persistent, unfailingly cheerful. And he wouldn’t let up. He wouldn’t let me rest, let me slip back and play games. He fired me up, Kuro. That last year at Nekoma in particular, he ...”

“I get it.” There was a well of tears damming behind his eyes, a lump in his throat so large it hurt, and all the regrets in his life, all the petty jealousies compounded in his chest, until he wanted to roar, to pound his fists on the road, anything to stop the pain scorching through him.

“He was like you,” Kenma whispered. And then he turned his face to the side, resting his cheek on his knees. “So encouraging.”

His eyes were wet, Kuroo noticed, and although he hated to see him so sad, there was a small part of him leaping with some long discarded hope. “He’s like me? Since when was I that clumsy?” he growled, then toepoked Kenma’s shin.

“He’s not as annoying,” Kenma sniffed and gave a slight giggle. “But he’s as pissed at me as you are that I stopped playing.”

“Hey, I do understand. You’ve got a job now.”

“It’s boring,” Kenma muttered. “I used to think it would be ideal, but I’ve got nothing else now.” He reached across with his hand, touching Kuroo’s knee. “I am sorry about the weed.”

“I’m sorry I yelled.”

“I deserved it.”

“Nah, not really,” Kuroo said and ruffled Kenma’s hair, stroking him behind the ears. “I’m supposed to cultivate a good bedside manner. I can’t do that if I lecture and don’t listen.” He took a breath through his nostrils, sudden and sharp. “Akaashi-kun says you told him it took the edge off things. What sort of things?”

“People sort of things. Crowds, noise, and then ...” He licked his lips, something flickering in his eyes, as he glanced back at the car, and then to Kuroo. The whole action taking less than one second.

“You things,” he admitted. “I miss you. And I wanted this trip to be our chance to reconnect, and maybe if you felt...” He gulped. “That’s ... sorry ... I’ll be content with getting our friendship back on track.”

“Felt what?” Kuroo whispered, not quite able to believe what Kenma was implying. If he was implying anything at all.

“It’s dumb,” Kenma muttered. “Real dumb, but I used to think you liked me, you know, in _that_ way. Then it changed and I knew you didn’t, but doesn’t stop me wondering.” He groaned. “Oh hell, that’s just blown our friendship right out of the water.”

“I did like you,” Kuroo replied. He lowered his head to Kenma’s breathing in the scent of his hair, sweet like apple pie and cotton candy, and pressed his lips to Kenma’s temple. “I still do, Kitten.”

 

“KISS HIM!” roared Bokuto from the car.

Keiji laughed. “Leave them alone, you daft owl. And pass me that map. I think I’d better drive.”

“Nope, you’ve had a drink. I’ll drive, you can navigate.”

“We don’t know where we’re going.”

“Pfft, hand me the map.” Bokuto studied it, then jerked his head all ways, finally alighting on some point on the horizon. “Okay, when the lovebirds have got back in, we go thattaway!”

“How d’you work that out?”

Bokuto tapped his nose. “I drive as the owl flies, kouhai. Kintai Bridge here we come!”

With the new driving arrangements, Kenma and Kuroo settled happily into the back. It was like the first journey, except this time Kenma wasn’t playing a game, but lay down with Kuroo curled around him.  He looked happy, no longer as closed off, as if someone had given him permission to _feel._

“Okay...” Bokuto began. “First off. Are there any drugs in this car?”

“What the fuck, Bo. I thought you- ”

“Nothing, I promise,” Kenma interrupted.

“Then in that case, I’m gonna .... floor it!” he roared. “Hold on tight, guys, I’m gettin’ us to Iwakuni before five!”

“No, you are not,” Keiji howled. “Two violations in the space of three days is not going to go down well. Kuroo, tell him!”

But Kuroo wasn’t listening, too intent on pulling Kenma into a kiss, small pecks and then, swooping down to nuzzle his lips.

 _Start of something new,_ Keiji thought, and although dread was settling in his gut, his heart warmed a little.

 

Despite his maniacal driving, Bokuto landed them in Iwakuni in one piece but after five o’clock.

“Happy Cat!” Kuroo slapped his head. “That’s the hotel name.” He grabbed Kenma’s phone, rapidly searching for the hotel as they drove along the main street threading through the city. “It was on the outskirts, pretty near the station ...” He trailed off, scrolling through a page, finally grinning at them all. “Yup, here it is. I booked it because we can take a train to Kikkou Park. If we still have our rooms, we can dump our stuff and head on out there.”

He was still smiling, ludicrously happy, and in the sort of tearing spirits Keiji didn’t think he’d seen since the golden days of High School and heading for Nationals.

“Or we could visit tomorrow,” Kenma suggested, stifling a yawn. “I’m kinda tired.”

“Hey, sure. Yeah, we’ll get to the hotel,” Kuroo said, instantly solicitous. “Don’t mind, do you, guys?”

“Nah, that’s cool. We’ll head out early and grab the sunrise instead of the suns-”

Keiji stopped him, pressing two fingers to Bokuto’s mouth and staring him the eyes. “Why don’t we go, Koutarou? We can watch the sunset together.”

“Good idea,” Kuroo said and squeezed Kenma on the shoulder. “Think we’ll get takeout in the room.” His smile faded a little and he directed his next words to Keiji.  “Don’t know about you guys, but we need some time to talk.”

 

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Bokuto breathed.

They were standing on one side of the Nishiki river, about to take their first steps onto the bridge. Kintai-Kyo  undulated before them, five wooden arches built on strong stone pillars, a swirling river rippling beneath them.

“It’s all wood,” Bokuto enthused. “’Cept for the pillars, of course. And they didn’t use nails. Amazing, huh?”

“Breathtaking,” Keiji agreed.  “And, it was good to come now. We can watch the sun go down together.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d like that, Keij.” He reached for Keiji’s hand, encasing it in his own. “Come on, let’s find a spot.”

They stepped forwards, neither bothered at any attention they might garner from being together like this, Bokuto because he didn’t give a stuff what people thought and Keiji because ... because there were more important things he had to think about.

Far more important.

“Gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Bokuto whispered when they’d found a place, nestled together on one of the stone plinths.

“Wrong? What do you mean?”

“The reason you came on the trip. I never really knew why you changed your mind.”

He couldn’t delay. Even though being held so close to Bokuto’s chest he could hear his heart thump, Keiji’d never felt more disinclined to talk. Because this would ruin the moment, had the potential to blow everything apart, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to follow through.

He inhaled, closing his eyes, hearing the roar of the river below – strong and eternal – and he prayed he could be, too.

**Possible Outcomes of breaking the news to Bokuto that I’m leaving Japan.**

**Case A:** He accepts it with no problem because this means nothing to him.  
**Case B:** He accepts it with resignation, but goes into dejected mode, screwing up in the next set of games and ruining any future as a pro.

 **Case C** : He shouts and yells because I’m considering this. Because I should have told him before. We break up and ... _everything’s_ gone.

 **Cases A, B & C:** All troublesome.

 **Time elapsed:** Three days. Three weeks, or is it a month that I’ve been putting this off?

“Come on, Keiji. It can’t be that bad, can it?” He faltered. “You ain’t ill, are ya?  It’s not your mom, is it? Is that why she’s been calling?”

“No, no, no, we’re fine,” he reassured him. “It’s something else ...Bokuto-san... Koutarou. I’m ...” He swallowed. “My parents ... my father, actually, has a posting in Europe. England, to be exact.”

“Hey, that’s cool. Ah, I’ll miss them. Make sure your mom bakes a lot of cakes before-”

Keiji pressed his hands to his face, in silent prayer mode. “Stop,” he whispered. “The thing is, because of this, I have a chance ... an opportunity to study there too for my final year.  At ... Cambridge.”

“Oh ...”

He closed his eyes and squeezed Bokuto’s hand really tight. “It’s not cut and dried. I _have_ accepted the place because I had to give them an answer, but I haven’t given notice to our university yet.”

“But you’re going to.” His face and voice and everything that made Bokuto had gone blank. Even his hair seemed flat, his eyes dull.

“I don’t know,” Keiji replied. “Tokyo’s my home. I have friends there ... I have you.”

“But this is Cambridge. It’s good, ain’t it?”

He nodded. “Very good.”

“Then ... uh ... You should take it.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean it.” Bokuto shifted his hands to Keiji’s waist, turning him around until they faced each other. “We kinda have to grab our chances, don’t we? Like me tryin’ out today.”

The sun was going down, casting a reddened haze across the river. Bokuto’s hair, wild as ever, caught in an orange flame. Keiji swallowed, wondering if it really was that simple, or perhaps it was that Bokuto – his Koutarou – didn’t really care at all.

“You don’t seem to mind.”

“Hey, I can’t ...” He thrust his head back, wide unblinking eyes studying the sky. “I can’t keep you here, Keiji.” He sniffed. “I kinda can’t believe you’ve stuck around as long as ya have, you know?”

“What? Why wouldn’t I?”

“I dunno. I’m annoying. I nag ya to practise even when I know you’ve got essays and shit to finish. I get home late. I’m untidy. I don’t-”

“You’re frustrating,” Keiji said, and started to laugh even as the tears pricked his eyes. “And yes, you annoy the hell out of me with your endless demands for practise. But you ... you bring me out of myself, Koutarou. You’re so ... you are ...” And now the tears were slopping down his cheeks, the dam had burst and it was all he could do not to fall to the ground. “I need you. I need -  Oh shit, there’s no way I can go!”

“Hey... huh, ‘course you can. Keiji, you gotta grab your chance. And, look, we got the rest of this year, and ... uh ...” He caught his breath. “If I sign for the Thunders, then, uh, I’ll be leavin’ Tokyo anyway so-”

“No.”

“Keij, you gotta go,” he whispered, his hands gripping him tighter. “I’ll make ya.”

“We don’t have the rest of the year,” Keiji interrupted softly “A month, maybe. The Cambridge term starts in October. My parents are flying out at the end of this month. I’ll join them in September. _If_ I go.”

“Oh.” For someone usually so talkative, it was like Bokuto had swapped places with Kenma. It wasn’t his dejected mode, he was lower than that, motionless, unanimated and dull.

“Guess we gotta make the most of the time we got, then,” he mumbled.

Clasping Bokuto’s face in his hands, Keiji kissed him on the mouth, soft as he tried to tempt his lips apart. But Bokuto was still.

 “I have holidays. Dad’s firm will pay for flights,” Keiji insisted. “And we can skype, email, text ... _anything_. It’ll be like I’m in Tokyo and you’re on the road.”

“Nah, it won’t,” Bokuto replied dully.

Pulling out a handkerchief – one with an owl in the corner that Keiji had bought him once – he noisily blew his nose, and then he gathered Keiji back in his arms, and although his eyes were swimming with tears, he managed a smile – a wan, watery sort of smile, but a smile nonetheless – and touched his lips to Keiji’s forehead.

Keiji groaned. “I don’t want this to end, Koutarou, I promise.”

“You mean that?” he whispered.

Keiji lifted his hand, pressing it into Bokuto. “Unless you think it’s for the best, but no, I don’t want us to be over.”

At that Bokuto sniffed and shook his head. “Nor do I. But ya gotta go, Keiji. Wouldn’t be fair on ya, staying here. It’d be like tellin’ me I can’t play no more.” He smiled again, and some colour returned to his cheeks as he traced a path from Keiji’s brow, down his nose to settle on his mouth.

“You want me to leave.”

He shook his head, a touch sadly. “Can’t cage an owl, Akaashi-kun. Gotta let them fly.”

“I’m not an owl.”

And then he tilted his head to one side, as if in assessment. “Yeah, you are. And you want to know something else about owls?”

“You’re going to tell me whether I want to know or not,” Keiji replied, and stared up at him _. I am going to miss you so much._

“They mate for life, Keiji-chan. So, I ain’t chucking in the towel on us yet, no matter where you migrate to.”

He held him tight then, clutching so close Keiji could hear Bokuto’s heart thudding hard and true, steadying his own.

 **Case D:**  We make it work because we’re a team, and not so easily split apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always welcome.


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